


Spring

by OldSchoolJohto



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Gold & Silver & Crystal | Pokemon Gold Silver Crystal Versions
Genre: F/M, Fame, Fate & Destiny, Gen II, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Minor Character Death, POV Third Person, Past Character Death, Slow Build, Social Media, Time Travel, anti-romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2019-07-28 12:17:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16241450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldSchoolJohto/pseuds/OldSchoolJohto
Summary: "Can I come with you?"Chris Nakano is a promising young talent on his way to the Indigo Conference until an encounter in the snow changes his course. Who do you become when you get what you thought you wanted? What do you lose?A slow-paced story about love, letting go, privacy, and destiny.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Julia & Joy](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Julia+%26+Joy).



> This is a reimagining of a story my friends and I play acted as kids. It has a special place in my heart, so I hope you enjoy it too.
> 
> You can also view this story on my Wix website with chapter illustrations, footnotes, and music:
> 
> http : // oldschooljohto . wixsite . com / spring (remove spaces)

****

 

**Prologue**

 

“Hey guys! No, wait. Ahem. HEY guys! Sorry for posting so late. Things have gotten SO crazy with League season wrapping up!” The boy smiled into the camera. Trees and ice whirled behind him as he spun the joystick controlling the camera drone and it wheeled around him.

“Buuuuut…! Here I am in the beautiful Ice Pass, serving up summer snow realness. We got your pristine snowy views, we got your pine trees, we got your Mountain Man boots in red by Devon Climbing Co. Look at that color contrast between the boots and the snow—so good. I love how they cushion my arches. Things like that really matter when you’re on the trail, and Devon gets that. For me, it can be hard to find a boot that gives me that good cushion. So be sure to check out Devon on PokeBook for their full range of hiking and camping gear.

“Today I’m going to be hunting for sneasels. I’ve never seen one in person, so I’m really looking forward to hopefully getting to see one while I’m here. I love their little faces! So I won’t be able to talk too, too much. I’ll have to be bit of a sneaky sneakster. A sneasel sneakster!

“But first I— hold on.” A mitten momentarily obscured the screen as the boy reached up to adjust the camera’s tilt.

“There we go. First I just want to share a few thoughts I’ve been having about—wha—ahhh!”

The scream was followed by a series of crashes as the image on screen spun and bounced. Then there was only static, and then the video ended.

The ranger found the camera in a pile of rock and snow at the bottom of the slope, not far from where the body lay. He closed the viewfinder and zipped both the camera and the drone in a plastic bag. “I guess that makes determining cause of death real simple,” he said.

“It usually is. There’s always another careless trainer,” said the other ranger. “Come help me with this.”

Together they rolled the body into the unzipped body bag and slid it into place on the stretcher. The dead trainer’s personal locater beacon lay crushed in the snow where he had fallen—lucky, in a way, or his body would’ve lain there much longer before even a missing person report was filed. Even with the emergency service team’s espeon tracking auras gleaned from sweaters or childhood toys mailed by concerned family members, there were limits to what they could do without a little luck.

One ranger stood and put his hands on his hips. “It looks like the sneasels found him.”

“Yup.”

They looked at the body. They looked at each other. Without another word, she zipped his face out of sight.

The espeon’s handler directed it to levitate the stretcher into the helicopter. Popping a lozenge into his mouth, he said to his partner, “These kids. It’s sad. They’re literally killing themselves for fifteen seconds of fame.”


	2. Green

**1: Green**

 

On the first day in the ravine, a flock of delibirds bombarded Chris Nakano.

 

At first there was only one, gliding from tree to tree a few feet behind him. Then a second one landed on a tree up the path with a coo and a thump of snow dropping to the ground. Then a third appeared. For a quarter mile or so, he watched them thicken along either side of the path, red and white blurs crossing between trees. Their coos grew louder and louder and more insistent—

 

Until all at once, in a rush of wings, they descended upon him.

 

The first one’s talons grazed his shoulder as it passed, tearing the fabric. He batted it away, only to be struck sidelong by a second. Two more slammed onto his backpack, jostling him and each other for purchase. Before he could shake them off or grab a pokéball, several more landed on his shoulder and pack. The combined weight pulled him backward. With a crash and a yelp, he hit the ground and slid partway down the hill through crusted-over mud.

 

He skidded to a stop against a tree, and even more delibirds came to land on his chest and raised knees. Some of the delibirds scattered at impact but immediately returned with thrusting beaks, squawking. Still more were landing in the tree above or flapping towards them down the hill. Chris covered his face in his arms.

 

However, after a moment he realized that, although the delibirds were clambering over his shoulders and scratching him in the process, their focus was an outside pocket of his backpack. He released the sternum and waist buckles of his pack and slid free of the straps. The backpack rolled the rest of the way down the hill without him, and the squawking, heaving mass of birds tore after it.

 

Moments later, Chris sent his jolteon, Sonic, whisking down the hill in a spray of snow and sparks.

The delibirds split like bowling pins as Sonic leapt into their midst. He lunged after their trailing tails with apparent glee, yipping and firing arcs of light into the air for good measure. When all the delibirds had retreated to a safe distance, the jolteon stood panting among fallen feathers.

 

Chris trotted down the slope, chuckling. “Good work, Sonic.”

 

Crouching, Chris withdrew the Ziplock bag from the outside pocket of his backpack—and immediately heard a collective rustle of feathers. The surrounding trees shivered.

 

He stood with care, looking from side to side. Then he held the bag above his head and gave it a shake. The dry food blocks within clacked against each other, but the sound was lost to the upsurge of squawking and flapping. Only Sonic at his feet, sending off ribbons of electric energy, kept the whole lot from dive-bombing him.

 

Chris grinned. He shook the bag again and then launched it as far as he could into the bushes.

 

As one, the delibirds plunged from their branches and disappeared, crashing through the underbrush.

 

Dusting himself off, Chris said to Sonic, “That is the last time I accept cheap pokémon food from a stranger.”

 

But, later, the delibirds came back.

 

Chris hiked for several hours with Sonic at his side, but delibird coos and rustling wings were never quite out of earshot. He stopped, turned, and shouted, “I don’t have anything!”

 

A hundred owlish eyes blinked.

 

“Go away!” He tossed a snowball, and the delibirds flapped away.

 

He continued on his way…and a few moments later he heard them follow.

 

That night, as he set up camp, the delibirds settled around him in a circle just out of reach of Sonic’s attacks. They came no closer, but he felt their eyes on him.

 

While he sat eating his simple meal of reconstituted chili, something bounced off his shoe. A black coat button. To the left he heard that distinctive coo and turned in time to watch a delibird reach into a hidden flap of skin among its feathers, nudge free a lip balm tube, and drop it into the clearing. Another coo and the crowd drew ever so slightly closer.

 

Sonic growled.

 

Countless bird treasures rained at his feet (one or two landing in his bowl): coins, water bottle lids, gum wrappers, a pen cap. The bright plastics were a visual shock in the monochromatic landscape.

 

The delibirds were insistent, wide-eyed.

 

“Thanks guys, but I still don’t have anything to give you!” Chris laughed.

 

A prescription pill jar rolled and hit his foot, the one remaining pill rattling inside.

 

He picked up the bottle and read: Penelope L. Tait. Had the jar rolled away from her one morning as she was packing up? Or was she one more careless trainer who never made it home alive? What evidence of Chris would be left on this mountain for someone else to find if he took a bad fall?

 

Chris felt a chill that had nothing to do with the snow.

 

“Okay, that’s it.”

 

He pulled a can of pokémon repellent from an outer backpack pocket and sprayed liberally.

 

Sonic snuffled and pawed at his own nose until Chris recalled him into his pokéball.

 

The delibirds took flight with a sound like a regretful sigh.

 

Chris pulled his shirt over his mouth and nose against the cloying acid-sweet smell and retreated into his tent…but at least he slept undisturbed.

 

In the morning, fallen feathers and a pile of junk that once belonged to other trainers marked where he had camped.

Late on the second day in the ravine, Chris passed a tree scarred by claw marks. He paused to finger the grooves, stretching above his head to reach. His fingers came away sap sticky, and he bent to clean them with snow before slipping his glove on again. Tipping his head back, he stood beneath the tree for a moment and chewed his lip. At last, he shifted his backpack forward by tugging on the shoulders straps, and then he continued up the slope.

 

Not much further up the trail was a second scarred tree. The patches where bark had been rubbed off were visible even from a distance, a surprising orange against gray-brown bark. As Chris drew closer, he saw also the clumps of dark fur caught in the bark that remained.

 

Beside the tree he slid out of his pack and pulled his Pokédex from the outside pocket. His was an older model, one of the big, heavy-duty ones that looked like a graphing calculator—he’d had it since many years before he became a licensed trainer and had yet to replace it. It ran on newer software, which made it slow. Before it was able to successfully scan the clump of hair, Chris had to turn it on and off and wipe the camera lens with the bottom edge of his shirt. Eventually, the Pokedéx vibrated once, and then the data for ursaring appeared on screen.

 

His stomach sank. “Yeah, that’s what I thought…”

 

The ursaring’s unmistakable, pungent musk clung to the tree.

 

He removed a glove to touchscreen-swipe past the sections describing height and weight relative to humans (he’d never bothered to update those settings, so his machine was still calibrated to his height at age thirteen), common battle strategies, and pop culture references; and paging back again, the screen lagging with each swipe, until he found the habitat description and map. They most commonly inhabit mountainous forests, the screen read, rarely living at elevations higher than 1,200 feet. In winter months, they dig dens for hibernation, often favoring hillsides.

 

And winter was over. Snow still crusted the mountain slopes, but mud flowed underneath. The branches were bare but tipped in buds almost ready to burst. In July, spring had finally come to the Ice Pass. In all likelihood, the relative warmth would only last until October; the wildlife had to make the most of it.

 

Shutting his Pokédex, Chris turned to glance behind and below at his footprints winding away through the ravine. High limestone cliffs framed the ice-capped peaks known to locals as the Dragon’s Spine. Breaks in the cliffs were cluttered with scrub brush and anemic-looking trees, mostly evergreens but some still-skeletal deciduous ones as well. Small alcoves and cave entrances were visible along the wall, and supposedly there were more all throughout the half-frozen earth below. The view ahead was more of the same. A sliver of sun peeked over the cliff wall, but within the hour it would sink and cast the canyon into shadows. It would take a day of hiking in either direction to pass through the ravine to open ground…assuming the best conditions.

 

The only way out is through, he imagined his father saying.

 

Looking back just once more, he shouldered his pack and continued deeper into the canyon.

 

Shadows deepened and swam across the canyon floor as if being poured. Ice crunched with Chris’s every step. Mud did too, though as recently as that morning he’d been sliding and sticking in it.

 

Not long after the sun sank behind the ridge, a light snow began to fall.

 

Chris alternated between watching his feet and gazing up the slope through frosted lashes into the copse of twisted pines ahead. Old snow was scribbled over by fallen pine needles here, disappearing once more under the fresh snow. Directly overhead, the sky was a featureless gray slab. With any luck, the storm would fizzle to nothing—he had already seen how the pokémon of the area stirred up flurries throughout the day, most ending as suddenly as they began—but he knew better than to count on it. He tugged his hood further forward and kept moving.

 

He raised his eyes again in time to see a green light pulse between the branches and fade again. With a thud, snow dropped from all of the trees at once. Then Chris heard a low hum, like a zipper drawing shut. He registered a flicker of movement before it was gone and all fell silent.

 

Chris stopped at the bottom of the slope, staring up into the trees, and listened. Wind whistled over the canyon walls. He heard his own breath and heartbeat, steady and oceanic. In the distance, one delibird called to another; the answer was even fainter. Nothing moved but the tips of the tree branches bobbing on an occasional gust of air. Snowflakes tumbled down. He touched a pokéball on his belt before continuing into the trees…much slower than before.

 

With each step, he relaxed into the task of hoisting himself up the hill, though he kept a watchful eye on the shadows. Even the snowfall seemed to be lightening.

 

As Chris neared the top of the slope, he spotted a blue lump on the ground a few feet ahead. One moment it was nothing: a snow shadow, a fallen branch under ice. The next, peering around tree trunks, he realized—Fabric. Sleeve. Arm.

 

His heartbeat stuttered. He tried to speak, found his tongue stuck dry to the roof of his mouth, swallowed, and tried again. “Are you okay?” Boots sliding, he scrambled up the slope.

 

Her body in its entirety came into view: what Chris had taken for shadow was a woolen cloak with a hood. The cloak fell partly open to reveal something part-gown and part-robe, bell-sleeved and patterned in blue and white diamonds. The robe’s edges were silk brocaded in smaller diamonds. All this was cinched at the waist by a blue sash, doubly secured with a tasseled red cord. The spill and spread of fabric folds on the snow tripled her apparent mass, but the bare wrist and leg protruding from the layers were thin, so pale the veins were visible. She wore sandals each made from a single piece of leather wrapped around the sides of the foot and laced shut across the top, leaving toes and ankles bare—that new age rustic aesthetic. Her exposed toes, fingers, and cheeks were red with cold. Her golden curls lay loose on the ground, glittering with freshly fallen snow. Chris had seen more than one woefully under-prepared trainer on his travels, but this went well beyond that.

 

He took a few long moments to at last shut his mouth and shake his head clear.

 

“Hey! Can you hear me?” He dropped his backpack, leaving it where it landed, and squatted at the girl’s side. He rocked her shoulder. “Hey. Come on. You can’t stay here.”

 

Her head lolled to one side from his shaking and then fell still.

 

Stomach lurching, he sucked in a breath. He fumbled with a glove, dropped it in the snow, and felt for her neck. Her skin was still warm. He pressed his first two fingers against the place he was almost sure was an artery, holding his breath… and finally detected a slow pulse.

 

Pulling away, he rocked back on his heels, and chewed the inside of his cheek. He pinched the sleeve that lay in the snow and found it damp, as he knew it would be. “Oh man,” he said in a gust of visible breath. He stared up through the skeletal branches and snowflakes; the daylight was dimming. He removed his other glove, rubbed his face, and returned his gaze to the girl. “Oh man,” he repeated.

 

He unclasped the gold brooch pinning the cloak at the neck, allowing the outer layer to fall completely open over the robe. Then, swallowing, he reached towards the sash holding the robe together—but stopped mid-air and clamped his hands around his ankles instead, drumming his fingers on the tops of his boots.

 

After a moment, he stood, pocketing his gloves, and at last released his typhlosion, Hero, from his pokéball.

 

Hero raised his bearlike face and sniffed the air. He stretched as he materialized, raking his claws across the frozen ground. Fully solidified, on all fours, his head was at the right height to nudge Chris’s hand for a scratch.

 

“Hey buddy.” Chris pulled away. “I need you over here.”

 

Sensing the tone in Chris’s voice, Hero’s demeanor became more alert, ready to become dangerous if he needed to be.

 

Chris patted the ground next to the girl. “Come here. Lie down here.”

 

Hero lumbered between Chris and the girl, pausing to sniff the girl’s hair. Then he shuffled at the snow and groaned.

 

“I know you don’t like the snow. I can’t help it. Could you lie down please?”

 

With a hand motion from Chris, Hero gave a moaning growl, tongue flopping, stretched once more, and then settled his mass onto the muddy snow.

 

Chris nudged him with his leg. “Over.” Even with flames retracted, the heat of Hero’s fur was enough to instantly melt the snowflakes off Chris’s pants.

 

Snorting a puff of steam, Hero shifted and rolled until he lay beside the girl—not as if she were something precious to be shielded but as if she were a pile of rocks.

 

Nonetheless, Chris bent to rub the tips of Hero’s ears. “Thank you.”

 

Turning his back to them both, Chris recollected his backpack and then knelt to paw through it. At the very top was the first aid kit. He began to set it aside, but stopped to take out his last two chemical hand warmers from the zippered pouch. These he tucked into his pockets before placing the rest on the ground beside him. Next were the various piece of his mess kit, which he stacked atop his first aid kit. Beneath the extra set of clothes (which he was careful to stack someplace dry) and the repair kit, he finally uncovered his tent.

 

The stakes, poles, and the body of the tent itself he leaned against a nearby tree. After stamping down a reasonably flat space next to the girl, he laid the rain fly down on the snow. On top of it he placed the thin foam sleeping pad, then the sleeping bag, which he laid open.

 

He paused to wipe his brow and tug the rain fly a fraction of an inch closer. Then he reached his hands beneath the girl. Chris rolled her onto the rain fly the way he learned in the emergency aid class required for his trainer’s license. He hadn’t had to practice it since and was amazed he pulled it off with no trouble.

 

Then Chris bent to collect his sleep clothes. He swept his gaze over the clearing—surveying his stacked supplies, noting the blank but darkening sky and the deepening shadows, and then finally allowing his eyes to fall upon the girl. “Okay,” he said to the air, as if the word could calm his fluttering stomach. His face was red and his hands shook, but he lay them on the girl’s stomach with a touch so light it wouldn’t have made a ripple in water. He fingered the red cord, bit his cheek, and pulled the knot loose. Before continuing, he told her, “I’m so sorry about this. I promise I’m not trying to be gross…I just want to help you. So I have to.” He took a breath. “Whether we like it or not.”

 

He had never seen a naked girl in real life.

 

Beneath the robe she wore a blue silk slip. It was thin, but he decided without much deliberation and with great relief that it was dry enough to leave it alone. As he began to pull his holey t-shirt over her head, he registered the one other object she wore: an iridescent gold feather, at least the size of his hand hung on another red cord around her neck. Without pausing, he tucked one leg and then the next into his fuzzy sweatpants and tugged them up past her navel, tucking in the ends of his t-shirt. Last, he undid the crude sandals, hands no longer shaking, and set them to the side. Her feet felt like ice. Not until he wrapped her in the sleeping bag did Chris realize he’d been holding his breath.

 

The moment before he pulled away, her eyes fluttered open. Her gaze was unfocused for a moment before locking onto Chris, freezing him to the spot.

 

The hair rose on his arms.

 

“Cold,” she said, so quiet he almost didn’t hear.

 

“It’s going to be alright. I’m going to get you help.” He eased one arm free and reached over her body for the sleeping bag zipper pull.

 

Her hand brushed his shoulder.

 

As he pulled away, he saw that she held a red downy feather from a delibird between two fingers. It had been stuck to his coat. “An angel,” she mumbled.

 

“You’re going to be alright,” he repeated, turning her onto her side.

 

Her eyes closed.

 

Chris withdrew the hand warmers from his pocket. Crushing them to active the heat, he shoved them down in the sleeping bag by her feet. He pulled the sleeping bag around her face, wet hair and all. Then he tucked in her exposed arm.

 

Her hand closed around his fingers, and he felt the feather she still held in her grip.

 

She was very pretty, he realized.

 

After a long moment, he spoke in a voice hardly above a whisper, surprising himself: “What’s your name?”

 

She didn’t respond with so much as a sigh.

 

He watched her without speaking, snow soaking through the knees of his pants, until his free arm began to ache from supporting all his weight. He gently disengaged his hand. Knees creaking, he climbed to his feet and dusted the remaining delibird feathers off his coat. His heart was still pounding, but the air was still. He asked Hero to lie beside the girl again.

 

He set up the tent and, with some effort, moved the girl inside using the rain fly as a sling. Then he reinstalled Hero at her side and zipped them in together.

 

There was one thing left to do.

 

He glanced at his Bitflex, but of course it still displayed only no signal. Not even as much as a roaming signal. No radio, no GPS, no email, and definitely no phone service. The mountains had reduced it to nothing but a blocky, water-resistant wristwatch. With a sigh, he went to his backpack.

 

The PLB—personal locator beacon—hung from an outside strap on his pack. It resembled a small, squat flashlight without a bulb, heavy for its size. The switch at the bottom was difficult to move on purpose. He had never had to flip that switch before—not in Union Cave, seized by panic that he’d never find his way back up to daylight; not on the Cianwood cliffs when the tide was coming in faster than he could climb; not after wandering Ilex forest for days, unsure whether he was walking in circles—and he had never planned to. But this time there was no other option.

 

He briefly indulged in the idea of loading the girl onto Samus, his skarmory. But he knew that Samus wasn’t quite big enough to manage the girl’s extra weight, let alone the two of them—because how else would he direct Samus back to Mahogany Town? Not to mention takeoff and turbulence jostling the girl’s head.

 

“Suck it up,” he scolded himself. Chris flicked the switch to “on” with an audible snap.

 

Nothing happened. Or, at least, nothing immediately obvious. The signal beaming SOS out to orbital satellites, the flurry of alarms at the local receptor station on the ground, orders being barked, the emergency team donning their suits, the computer technician reading the output and tracking the location of the metal cylinder clutched in Chris’s hand—this all had to be imagined.

 

In the meantime, there was nothing for Chris to do but wait.

 

He turned in a circle, snow crunching beneath his feet. Gray skies over gray cliffs peeked between the dark trees. The sun sank imperceptibly lower, minute by minute. Shadows washed over him. And the snow kept coming down with no sign of stopping.

 

Chris had never felt so alone in the canyon. Perhaps never in the ten months he’d been training.

 

He paced around the clearing but dared not go far. He craned his head back to search for a helicopter he knew had not yet arrived. Not so much as a delibird crossed the sky. After his second lap he began to pick through the snow for fallen branches, but unsurprisingly the wood he found was too green and too wet to burn.

 

Fingers aching and red, Chris rubbed his hands together and returned to sit on the tent floor beside his pokémon. He pressed his hands to the warmth of Hero’s back until they no longer stung from the cold. Hero lay his head on Chris’s knee. The heat radiating from his fur, even at rest, was so intense that Chris unzipped his coat partway. However, he could still feel the cold ground beneath them.

 

After checking the girl’s pulse again (unchanged, as far as he could tell), Chris hopped to his feet and strode to his pack. He re-sorted his piles, stuffing a few things inside the backpack again, until he could access his mess kit. He took out what he needed to heat water for tea. Chris brought the ziplock bag of loose leaf tea to his nose and inhaled deep. It was a blend of green teas and herbs from the Olivine area, which he toasted himself. The smell always reminded him of days spent watching his father battle at the gym. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine he heard the hiss of water on hot rocks and smell the sweat. After a moment he resealed the bag and pocketed it. He listened to the hiss of his camp stove, staring at nothing…

 

He shook his head and turned to look at the girls’ cloak and outer robe where they still lay on the ground, and then got up for a better look. Up close, holding one of the sleeves, he saw that the diamond pattern wasn’t made of solid color blocks at all but many fine blue and white stitches that revealed intricate scenes: cherry blossoms, stantler, a river lined with trees, lotus flowers, feathers, fruit, temples. He had never seen a piece of clothing designed with such care and detail.

 

Chris stood and peeled the blue and white robe up from the wet cloak beneath, shaking it out. He draped it between two sturdy tree branches. The snow and lack of direct sun would keep it from drying much, but at least it was off the ground.

 

After rubbing the sleek fabric between his fingers once more time, he turned his attention to the cloak. For the first time he noticed the shape of the brooch pinned to the hood: a bird pokémon, its wings spread, feathers suggested by a chevron pattern. He thought he recognized it, but he wasn’t sure from where. It was blockier than the Johto ‘Geottos logo, for example. In fact, it was designed to look handmade and very old, with hammer marks visible all over the surface and edges ragged in some places.

 

He picked up the cloak as well, brushing snow from the folds. As he scouted around for a suitable place to hang it, the cloak being much heavier than the robe, something green in the corner of his eye caused him to glance down. He nearly dropped the cloak in shock.

 

Where the girl had lain was a patch of perfect, storybook green—not the first blades of spring grass struggling up through mud and snow, but a full carpet of grass and clover dotted with tiny flowers. He hadn’t seen anything like that anywhere in the canyon. He prodded at the surrounding snow with the toe of his boot and revealed nothing beneath but black earth and pine needles. No more grass to be seen. On a whim, he ruffled the grass with his hand and found it wet but warm.

 

Chewing the inside of his cheek, he hung the cloak in the trees, its weight bowing branches, and returned to sit on rock beside his camp stove and windshield. Over and over, his eyes returned to that patch of grass shaped like a human body.

 

Inside the tent, Hero grumbled and sighed in his sleep every so often.

 

Chris sipped his tea in silence, watching the grass (still there) and the sky (still empty.) He checked his Bitflex again, though he didn’t need a time readout to know it was getting darker out. And colder. The next time he checked her pulse, the girl was shivering. Zipping his own coat higher, he rose to gather up snow to melt for another cup of tea. He rubbed his hands together and then warmed them on Hero’s flank.

 

And waited.

 

He was drinking his third cup of tea when he heard drums in the distance. No, not drums. Heart hammering to the rhythm of the helicopter blades, Chris leapt to his feet.

 

Pausing only to snatch the purple cloak from the branch where it hung, he ran toward the sound of the approaching helicopter. He half-sprinted and half-slid downhill, jumping over exposed roots and fallen logs. The noise grew louder and louder until it throbbed in his ears. Just as he broke through the trees, he watched the red and white helicopter glide into view over the canyon wall.

 

“Over here!” Chris shouted, but he could hardly hear himself. With two hands he waved the cloak overhead, droplets spattering his arm with each snap. The wet cloth was heavy, and his arms quickly began to ache.

 

The helicopter banked left and began to descend. Surrounding trees shivered, shedding pine needles and snow.

 

He let his arms fall to his sides, out of breath.

 

The racket became louder yet, forcing Chris to cover his ears. His hood ripped back from his face. The wind battered him, tossing ice flecks in his face and slapping the cloak against him. He hid his face in his shoulder.

 

A few feet above the ground, the chopper halted and hovered in place. A side door marked with a red plus sign slid open, and a woman wearing a helmet, a blue jumpsuit, and a reflective neon vest jumped down. She flashed the pilot a thumbs up, and the helicopter wheeled up and away to circle overhead.

 

The paramedic jogged to meet Chris. “Are you injured?” she shouted over the noise. When she stood close enough to be heard, Chris noticed that among other tools clipped to her belt was a full set of six MasterBalls. He had never seen them carried by anyone other than a police officer. That was one way to subdue an attacking pokémon, he supposed.

 

“I’m fine,” Chris yelled back, “but there’s a girl over there in the trees. I left her with my pokémon but she needs help. She’s unconscious.”

 

She scrunched her shoulder to speak into the short-range radio clipped onto her jumpsuit. It crackled back something in response, but Chris couldn’t hear over the helicopter rotors. Then she shouted to Chris, “How far is it?”

 

“Not far. Maybe a hundred feet up the hill.”

 

The paramedic relayed this information via radio. The helicopter lowered once more, and she jogged back to meet it. Someone fed a stretcher with raised sides and straps through the door, and she caught the end. A second paramedic hopped down from the helicopter, supporting the other end of the stretcher. They carried it back to Chris between the two of them. The helicopter roared into the air.

 

“Show us the way!” she shouted to Chris.

 

With the paramedics following closely behind, Chris picked his way through the trees once again. He unzipped the tent door and recalled Hero to make room for the two paramedics. Before he finished clipping Hero’s pokéball back onto his belt, the paramedics were already kneeling on either side of the girl. One was unrolling space blankets from inside the stretcher, the synthetic fabric crinkling, while she updated the helicopter crew via radio. The other asked Chris questions about the girl and what had happened, many of which he couldn’t answer.

 

Finally, one paramedic announced, “Let’s get her into the helicopter.”

 

They bundled the girl up in space blankets, the shiny material reflecting streaks of light around the clearing. The helicopter’s rotors clattered louder, now softer, now louder again as it wheeled overhead. Red and white flashed occasionally through the trees. Then—“On three. One, two, three—” they moved her into the stretcher and strapped her in.

 

Chris watched.

 

One of the paramedics radioed the helicopter. The other released an espeon from a pokéball. It, like them, wore a tyvek vest with the emergency services logo on it. Within minutes, the rotors grew louder and the helicopter was visible overhead. The espeon’s handler said something to it, inaudible over the helicopter, and its eyes began to glow red. Then the air surrounding the stretcher glowed red. Another round of back and forth radio static, and then the stretcher began its slow rise to the helicopter’s waiting doors.

 

Chris craned his neck back to follow her glittering, silver-wrapped body rising through the treetops. His stomach felt leaden, but not until the paramedic spoke did he finally look away—

 

“We’ll fly her to the nearest hospital in Mahogany Town. You probably saved her life.”

 

“Yeah…” Chris skimmed his eyes over his scattered camp gear, the robe still hanging in the tree. Last, he turned to look up at the Dragon’s Spine peaks overhead, visible only as silhouettes now.

 

Perhaps his final gym badge could wait a few more days.

 

He spun to face the two paramedics. “Can I come with you?”


	3. Detour

**2: Detour**

****

Chris remembered little of the journey. He must have slept. He stretched his arms—for that was all the room he had to move, hunched in the corner between his backpack and the paramedics—and watched the dull orange streetlights below draw nearer.

The helicopter made a low arc, and the medical center came into view below. Chris realized he had been to this building before, though he hadn’t known at the time it was also the hospital. He had only entered the left wing, which was the pokémon care center. The other wing was where humans were treated and where they would be taking the girl.

He hardly had time to digest the fact of landing before the door slid open and the paramedics were gone, moving the stretcher towards the hospital doors. He tottered to his feet, nearly hitting his head, shouldered his pack, and followed them out. Moments later, he was squinting against the fluorescent lobby lights. A cluster of hospital personnel in pale green scrubs converged on the stretcher. Together with one of the paramedics they wheeled the girl away down the hall in a flash of silver space blanket.

The other paramedic stayed behind, leaning one arm against the front counter while he gave a radio update.

When he was through, the gray-haired woman at the desk piped up, “Another trainer?”

“No, I don’t think so,” the paramedic replied.

Moving as if waterlogged, Chris closed the beige-tiled distance between them.

Before Chris could speak, the paramedic called out, “Hey look, it’s the hero of the day.” He grinned, revealing a missing incisor on the left.

Chris halted, sagging under the weight of his backpack. “Oh, no, I only—”

“Sure you are. Don’t be modest. It’s nice to see a trainer with some practical sense.”

“Well—”

“I’ve been doing this for ten years, so trust me when I say I know heroics when I see them. Your friend is lucky.”

“So you think she’ll be okay?”

“She should be alright now—just needs a little rest.”

Chris stopped biting the inside of his cheek, which he hadn’t noticed he was doing. “Good. I’m glad.”

“And what about you? Have a good sleep on the ride back?”

“I guess.” He stretched again and heard something pop. “I feel more tired now than I did before.”

“You might as well get some rest. Come back in the morning if you want to see how she’s doing.”

“I think I will.”

“Great. You need help finding a place to stay?”

Chris tugged his backpack forward and smiled. “No, thank you. I’ll be fine. It was nice to meet you.” With that, he set out into the night.

The phone line rang and rang at Chris’s wrist as he walked. It was much warmer on this side of the mountain, and Chris had to stop and stuff his coat into his pack. Humidity nullified all other sounds but the crickets. Fireflies hovered over puddles, and the sky was thick with crisp stars so unlike the flat purplish wash of light pollution above Chris’s hometown. Here, the line between town and wilderness was tricky to distinguish.

Though the street lights were dim, the trainer hostel was not difficult to find. It was as he remembered: one block north of the gym, across from a small grocery market (closed at this hour), a narrow, two-story cabin with a wooden sign hanging crookedly above the front door. Like most other buildings in town, The Indigo Chatteau was built from blocks of blue-gray stone, but it was one of few without a thatch roof and it was the only one besides the gym taller than a single story. Only one of the downstairs lights was on, and none was lit upstairs.

As he rounded the corner and The Chatteau came into view, a tinny voice at his wrist called out, “Hullo, Indigo Chatteau. Hello?”

Chris brought the Bitflex watch to his mouth. “Hi—sorry to be calling so late—”

“Believe me, that’s not exactly out of the norm.” The hostel manager didn’t have his video feed turned on—or, more likely, didn’t have one—but the scowl was clear from his voice.

“This is sort of an emergency. Do you have any beds available for tonight?”

A pause. A creak, a shuffling of paper… “There is one.” The light in the front room downstairs came on. “That you walking up?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll meetcha at the front in a second.”

A click, then silence.

Chris tried the front door and found it locked, but within he heard footfalls approaching. The manager lived on the bottom level in a back room, he remembered. He had seen the little cot and the potbelly stove through the open doorway behind the front desk, a vision that had made him feel inexplicably sad. In all likelihood, Chris had woken the old man up.

The door opened.

The old man wore a cable-knit sweater, even in this heat. He squinted at Chris. “I remember you,” he said. “You left just a coupla days ago.”

Chris shrugged and smiled. “I beat Pryce.”

“Had a little trouble in the mountains though, eh?” He barked a laugh that made Chris jump in surprise. “Emergency services brought you right back, I see.”

“Not exactly,” Chris said, reddening.

The old man wheezed another laugh. “You’re hardly the first this year, don’t you worry.” He turned and padded into the cool dark, waving for Chris to follow.

By the light spilling in from the back room, the old manager found the light switch. The lobby remained dim, however, partly on account of the single bulb in the old fashioned light fixture and partly because of the dark-colored furniture. Front and center was a wooden desk (mahogany, of course) atop a moth-eaten rug. Against one wall stood a longcase clock, atop which perched a horrifying taxidermy hoothoot that looked centuries old.

“Now…” The manager lowered himself painstakingly into the chair. He unlocked a desk drawer, pulled out the ledger book, and cracked it open. Licking the pad of his thumb and flipping to a blank page, he said, “You know the drill. First you pay, then you get your bed.”

“Right.” Chris clicked a button to open the hollow compartment in his belt buckle and slid out his Trainer OneCard.

“I hope you didn’t wake me up for nothing. You know how this works.” He hooked his thumb at the “cash only” sign on the wall behind him.

“Sorry, I forgot.” Chris pinched the roll of bills from his belt buckle compartment. “How much is it again?”

“How many nights you need?”

“Just one, I’m pretty sure.”

“Sure or just pretty sure? We’ve had more trainers through here lately than you can shake a stick at. Come morning, you might find you can’t get a bed if you want one. I can’t guarantee you anything you don’t pay for here and now.”

“I’ll be okay with just one night.”

The old man grunted and shrugged. “That’s thirty dollars then. Towel rental is two.”

“It was less last time.”

“It’s almost the end of League eligibility. Demand goes up, the price goes up.”

Chris peeled three tens off the roll of bills, biting his cheek. “I don’t need a towel.” Thirty dollars for a few hours on a musty mattress. With that money he could buy two decent bowls of hot stew and rice, a weeks’ worth of meals in dry goods and fresh produce, repairs for his boots and tent… His stack was thinning. But because the only other option was hiking to the marshland outside the city and pitching his tent on a mud puddle in the dark, he handed his money to the hostel manager.

The old man licked his fingers again to recount the bills. Then he began to fill out the ledger in spidery scrawl. “I’ll take that card now.”

Chris set it on the desk. He watched the old manager copy down his information for a moment and then asked, “Hey, how did you know about the emergency services anyway?”

The old man wheezed a laugh. “Son, when one of those helicopters goes out, the whole town hears it.”

“Oh.”

The manager finished writing, tore off the carbon copy for Chris, and snapped the ledger shut. “Bunk 4A, up the stairs on the left. You remember where the bathrooms are? Kitchen, lockers?”

“I think I got it.” Chris hoisted his backpack off the floor. “Thank you—have a good night.”

Up the creaky claustrophobic stairs, down a hallway lit by night lights, Chris found the room. Someone was asleep in 4A — an unidentifiable heap of body amid blankets. Below that was 4B, occupied by a white guy with dreadlocks whose limbs dangled over the sides of the cot. Atop 4C, the next bunk, a girl read a tattered paperback by headlamp light. A vulpix was curled in her arms, in spite of signs posted all throughout the hostel that admonished, “All pokémon must remain inside pokéballs AT ALL TIMES!!” She didn’t so much look up to acknowledge Chris when he dropped his cot on the empty 4D bunk below her.

The moment he laid down, Chris fell asleep, still on top of the blankets.

He dreamed of snow… and woke sweating.

Chris set no alarm but rose with the sun, as he did every morning. The girl with the vulpix was already gone. The other two were still asleep, though Dreadlocks’ head now lay where his feet had been during the night. One of them was snoring quietly.

Keeping quiet to avoid disturbing the sleepers, Chris pulled everything damp from his pack and laid it across the now-empty bunk above his to air out. He locked his pack in the footlocker under the bunk using his own padlock and headed out into the crisp morning.

It was 6am — too early to call home. Too early for a hospital visit as well. He turned north towards the lake instead.

He walked slowly, having no particular needs or plan. However, as there was little of the sleepy town to see, he still passed through quickly.

First he passed the laundromat and the owner’s attached apartment with its ancient lake bed stone walls and modern detergent smells. It was almost exclusively for trainers. During his last stay here, he’d learned that most of the locals still washed their clothes at the lake.

Next he passed the repair shop surrounded by an array of stripped bike frames and PVC pipe. They hadn’t opened yet. Chris made a mental note to stop back later with his torn coat.

Before long, he was walking among houses. Cooking smells and the sounds of pots clanging washed over him. He ducked through fluttering laundry lines and stepped over scattered wooden toys.

Between the irregularly spaced buildings, The Lake of Rage shone through, dark blue and glittering. Beyond the houses, a grassy slope provided a lookout point into the bowl carved by the lake’s high and low years. Around the docks, the men of the town clustered, baiting and casting fishing lines. On the western lip of the lake, a pair of trainers battled. Fortunately for the fishermen, the battle was driving the magikarp towards them. To the east, the gradual curve of highlands cut up sharply into the Dragon’s Spine Mountains.

Chris gazed at the mountains with his hands in the pockets. The distance tore at him. There were only two and a half weeks left for him to reach Blackthorn City on the other side of those mountains, challenge Ibuki, claim a badge, and travel all the way to the Indigo Plateau in time to register for the annual tournament. He was flirting with the impossible by coming back here.

But he wanted to know the girl was alright. His thoughts snagged on unanswerable questions: how did she end up in the middle of nowhere? Who was she?

The aroma of fried food finally pulled his attention downhill towards the lake. Across the road from the docks was a tiny food cart pulled by a bike. As Chris made his way down the slope, he watched the vendor unhook his bike, collapse it, and hang it on the back of the cart. Chris arrived just as the vendor unshuttered the front window.

Chris ordered a magikarp-shaped pancake filled with cherri berry paste. It heated his hands through the tinfoil wrapping. He paid the small sum and then, balancing the pancake in the crook of an elbow, he retreated to a distance to count the remainder of his cash more carefully. He had a little over two hundred dollars in hand, and not much more than that on his OneCard. With a sigh, he returned the money to his belt buckle compartment.

He had also burned his tongue.

Chewing as he walked, he meandered towards the piers. The water grew clearer and brighter with each moment, revealing green muck at the bottom and flashes of red and gold fins. He sat at some distance and watched the fishermen be men together. They spoke little and in low voices, but not so low that Chris couldn’t hear the punchline to a dirty joke.

From the across the water came the occasional shout or splash. One trainer’s houndoom shuffled out of the lake shallows and shook itself off, head hanging. Chris saw the opponent’s reflection on the water first, then tracked it upward. The pidgeot made to dive-bomb again, and the houndoom lunged to meet it—and then splashed down with a howl that echoed across the water. But the pidgeot pulled out of its dive with blood spreading across its breast feathers.

The fishermen clicked their tongues and shook their heads.

Among them, Chris spotted one familiar face: he wore an oversized shirt printed with tropical flowers and smoked an old-fashioned pipe. He was the only one without a fishing pole.

“Hey!” Chris stood and walked over. “Aren’t you the guy who sold me that bag of pokémon food?”

The man turned and paled. “Who me? You must have me confused with someone else.”

“But I recognize your shirt.”

Chris took a step closer, and the man leapt to his feet. All the fishermen were staring at them now. “You bought it fair and square! No refunds!” the man cried.

“I don’t even have it anymore, I just—”

“I won’t take it back!”

“I only want to know what’s in it!”

But it was too late. The strange man ran clattering down the pier and disappeared over the hill, gaudy shirttails fluttering behind him. The smell of his strange bitter smoke lingered. Tobacco and rawst leaf.

Chris shrugged at the surrounding fishermen. “What’s his problem?”

“Oh, that’s just Saji. He’s an odd one. Don’t pay him no mind.”

“You’re scaring away all the magikarp! Shaddup, would ya?”

Chris shook his head and walked away.

Across the water, the two pokémon tangled so tightly they looked like one creature. Now and again a wing might emerge. A tail. A horn. Their trainers’ shouts grew louder and more plaintive, but it seemed to matter little at this point. Soon there would be an obvious loser, and then the other would collapse too.

He made his way towards them.

The houndoom’s trainer was handing the other trainer a few bills. Chris was close enough to see his scowl. The pidgeot perched atop the fallen houndoom, holding one bloodied wing away from its body but keeping its head high. Its trainer recalled it and looked up to see Chris approaching.

“That’s an impressive pidgeot.”

“Thanks.”

“I’d really like to battle you, if that’s alright. Do you have any pokémon left?”

“So polite.” She looked Chris up and down. “I have three.”

The other trainer folded his arms.

“What would you say to one hundred for best two out of three and an extra fifty for a complete knockout?”

She squinted. “How many badges do you have?”

“Seven. For now.”

She grinned and reached to shake his hand. “I’d love to double my earnings.”

“Release on three?”

“Let’s go.”

In the first round, her steelix literally drove Pocky, his girafarig, into the ground.

Round two was a surprise for them both when Chris released his jolteon and she a raichu. Their preliminary stabs of electricity fazed neither pokémon—shows of dominance if not force—but left Chris’s hair standing on end. His opponent tried to leverage the raichu’s comparative bulk to push Sonic into the lake and pin him underwater. She came close. But Chris hadn’t named him Sonic for nothing. The jolteon ran circles around the raichu, delivering a quick kick or bite or pin missile before darting out of reach. Finally, the raichu was too worn down to fight the jolteon off its chest.

For the final round, Chris sent out Samus, his skarmory, and she a gengar. At the look on her face, Chris knew he had secured his payout. Samus tore through the gengar’s smoggy veil —Chris and his opponent pulled their t-shirts over their mouths—and made quick work of it with a few swipes of her wing blades.

The houndoom trainer smoked a cigarette beneath a tree and watched.

“Wow,” said the girl, recalling her fallen pokémon. “I hope that’s not a preview of how the Indigo League will go for me.” But she smiled as she shook his hand.

“Good match,” Chris said.

The other trainer fiddled with her necklace. “What’s your TN handle? I’ll tag you.”

“My what?”

“Your Trainer Network profile?”

“Oh, I don’t have one.” He hadn’t realized she’d been filming the fight, but now he saw the glint of a camera lens in the necklace charm she wore. He wished she would’ve warned him or asked. “It’s… not really my thing.”

“Really? That’s unusual. With your cheekbones you could easily get a following going. Unless you like slugging it out, I guess.” She eyed him up and down again. “Can I buy you a coffee or something? I think there’s a little cafe in town...”

Chris blushed. “Thank you, but I can’t. I have to take care of a few things.”

“Well, you’d better hurry up and get that last badge so I can buy you a coffee at the Indigo Plateau.”

“I’ll do that.”

At the hostel Chris repacked his bag, the girl’s cloak and robes rolled on top. Dreadlocks was still dead to the world, though it was close to lunchtime.

After dropping off a few items at the laundromat and the repair shop respectively, Chris made a quick stop at the grocery store to stock up on dried goods. He made himself a sandwich in the grassy patch beside the store, and then started towards the hospital. He dusted the last crumbs off himself as he came to the entrance.

Even in daylight, the fluorescent light hurt his eyes. He went to the desk where the gray haired woman from the night before either still sat or sat again. “Hi, I’m here to visit the girl who came in last night.”

“Of course. I remember you.” The desk attendant typed something and squinted at her screen. “It looks like visitors are allowed, but you’ll have to check your belt and pokéballs here. We’ll send them across the hall to the pokémon center for you if you like. Don’t worry, you’ll get them back when you leave.”

“What? Why?”

“That’s the policy for all mental ward patients.”

Chris chewed the inside of his cheek, but he unbuckled his belt and signed the visitor registry. She directed him to the door. A few moments later, he found the door and tapped on it before he could supply himself with reasons not to.

“Come in.”

He found the girl sitting up in the hospital cot, frowning at a Reader’s Digest. Her hair was a wild cloud of yellow curls, but her face was full of color again. The golden feather still hung around her neck.

She looked up at him with bright eyes. “Hello.”

“Hi.” He took a few steps. “I uh… I wanted to see how you were doing, make sure you’re okay.”

She frowned and tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “I feel healthy. They say I will be allowed to leave soon. But things have been… confusing.” Then she smiled up at Chris. “But I would not be here at all if not for you. Will you tell me your name?”

“I’m Chris.”

“Chris. You saved my life.”

“Oh no, I’m just the guy who called the paramedics. They did the real work.”

She met his eyes in a long stare, doe-eyed yet piercing. “I am in your debt,” she said and folded her hands over her heart. “Thank you, truly.”

Chris looked away first. “Anyone would’ve done the same,” he said, ears reddening. He cleared his throat. “Um. What’s your name?”

She paled. “I… do not know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

The girl smiled again, but it was a sad smile. “I fear I cannot remember much from before you found me. They say it is shock. Most likely my memory will return before long. For now, they call me Jane.”

Jane Doe.

Shock probably explained some of the way she spoke. She didn’t have an accent exactly, but there was something strange about it.

“It must be scary not being able to remember things.”

Jane let out a sigh. “Yes.”

“So you don’t know how you got there?”

She shook her head.

“Not at all?”

“The doctor believes I have teleportation sickness. It would appear I was spirited there, so to speak.”

Chris had never been teleported by a pokémon, but he’d heard that it could be disorienting and even sickening, especially the fist few times. “So, it was an accident.” He paused. “Or… maybe not an accident.”

Jane shrugged but smiled. “Who can say.”

Someone rapped on the open door frame, and they turned to see a doctor poke his head in. Beneath his lab coat he wore a shabby sweater—patches on patches. “Hi, Jane. Mind if I come in?”

“Please.”

“I’m Dr. Stratus, and you must be the kind traveler everyone has been talking about.”

Chris introduced himself and shook the doctor’s hand.

“I was just coming to let Jane know that the emergency services team was able to lend us one of their interns to escort you. So as long as everything is still looking good in the next few hours…we’ll have you on your way back to Ecruteak first thing in the morning.”

“Ecruteak?” Chris said.

“Yes. The one thing I know with certainty is that Ecruteak is my home,” said Jane. “That much I remember well. I have been told we are not far from there.”

“Not far at all,” agreed the doctor.

“Oh!” Chris set down his backpack and unhooked Jane’s rolled up robe and cloak from the top. “I almost forgot. These are yours.”

“Oh, thank you!” Jane accepted the roll and set it on her lap, fiddling with the edge of a sleeve. She looked equally happy and puzzled to have it.

Dr. Stratus leaned forward. “May I?” He took the robe from Jane and unrolled it partway. “Well if this isn’t an emblem of Ecruteak, I don’t know what else would be. It’s beautiful craftsmanship. Maybe you’re involved in historical reenactments, Jane.”

She frowned. “Perhaps.”

“Well.” Dr. Stratus refolded the robe and stood straighter. “Having you back where you’re meant to be is going to be the best thing for your current state. You’ll be feeling more like yourself very soon, don’t worry.”

“Thank you,” said Jane.

Chris said, “I’m glad it sounds like…everything is working out.” He smiled, but something was tickling the back of his mind that made it difficult to mean it.

“How would you like to meet him?” said Dr. Stratus.

Jane started. “What?”

“Your escort! I thought you might like to touch base before we send you off into the wilderness with him. And I think a bit of fresh air will do you some good. Why don’t you get dressed and then we can go outside and say hello. Though, of course, let us know if you feel dizzy or lightheaded at all.” He placed a bag on the end of the bed. “One of our nurses gathered these for you. Hopefully the fit is close enough. Meet me in the hallway when you’re ready.”

With that Dr. Stratus ushered Chris into the hall with him and closed the door behind them.

“So the memory loss,” Chris began. “That’s not permanent, is it?”

“The human body is full of surprises…but no, I don’t think so. Typically, amnesia and other symptoms of teleportation sickness go away after a few days, especially if the patient is able to return to somewhere familiar. You ever wake up in an unfamiliar place and forget where you are for a second? It’s a little like that.”

Chris nodded. “Well…I guess this will be a good moment to say goodbye.” He tightened his backpack straps. “It’s a long way to Blackthorn.”

Dr. Stratus smiled. “I think you’ve already done more than the average trainer would’ve. We don’t see too many trainers here who don’t have a broken arm or yellow fever or what have you, and even then we have to fight to get some of them to slow down long enough to submit to some doctoring.”

“Ha, I can imagine.”

“It’s kind of you to stop by. I think she appreciates it.”

Moments later, Jane stepped into the hall wearing clothes left behind by trainers over the years, a pair of leggings and a 90’s sweater. She could be be almost anyone now, except… there was still something strange about her, maybe the look in her eyes, maybe the way she carried herself. Chris wondered again who she really was.

“How do you feel? Lightheaded? Any tingling or numbness?”

“No. I feel normal.”

“Wonderful! Then follow me.”

Dr. Stratus led them out a side door that led into an outdoor seating area partially enclosed by trees. Chris was surprised to see the trainer from earlier sitting on one of the stone benches practicing sleight of hand tricks with a pokéball, his fully restored houndoom sitting at his side. A cigarette was tucked behind his ear. He looked up and waved as the group came through the door.

“Jane, this is Benny, and he— what’s the matter?”

She had gasped loudly, and when Chris turned to look he saw she was white in the face. She pointed a finger shakily. “Why is that beast here?”

Benny laughed. “Hotshot? He’s not gonna hurt you.” Seeing the look on the doctor’s face, he recalled his pokémon.

But Jane kept backing away until she was against the wall.

“What is it, Jane? I know you don’t know him yet, but Benny is very responsible. He’s escorted people between here and Ecruteak lots of times.”

She shook her head. “I cannot go with him. Forgive me, but I cannot.”

“I mean, I have other pokémon,” Benny chimed in.

“No, no, no. Please, I cannot. Not with him.”

A nurse arrived to check out the commotion, and Dr. Stratus asked her to escort Jane back to the room. “I’m sorry, Benny,” he said. “Thank you for your time.”

“I don’t even get what I did.”

“You probably didn’t do anything. We don’t know what kind of trauma she might have experienced before she came to us—she doesn’t remember, so she can’t tell us. Anything could be a trigger for her.”

Benny shrugged. “Alright, well let me know if she changes her mind, I guess.”

“We will, thank you.”

With that he slipped out between the trees.

Dr. Stratus pinched the bridge of his nose. “That complicates things.”

“Excuse me,” said Chris. “Why not just fly her out in the helicopter?”

With a wry smile, Dr. Stratus said, “You would think that would be the simple answer, wouldn’t you? Unfortunately, the rangers have to be on call with the helicopters for emergencies, especially this time of year.” He motioned for Chris to follow him down the hall. “That’s why we usually go with an intern. They have enough of the training, they’re available, and they’re looking for odd jobs like this. But it’s obviously not a perfect system. It’s too bad, but it looks like our Jane Doe will have to wait things out here for a while. Maybe she’ll recover memories of a relative who might be able to hire a local trainer to come from Ecruteak.”

Chris chewed his cheek for a minute. “You know… it wouldn’t be hard for me to get to Ecruteak from here. I train a lapras, so it would just be a matter of cutting across the lakes.”

Dr. Stratus stopped and looked at him. “It’s not something we would normally allow, but considering the circumstances I think we could make an exception for you. We can’t pay you, you know. We’re not going through official channels here.”

“Oh, I know. I don’t need money. I just hate to see her stuck in a place she wasn’t supposed to be…”

The doctor raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? Aren’t you trying to get to Blackthorn on a deadline?”

“It is a little out of my way, but I don’t think it would take long. It’s the right thing to do.” His ears turned red again. “I mean, if she would like me to take her.”

As Dr. Stratus had promised, they left first thing in the morning.


	4. Memory

**3: Memory**

 

“We might be able to see Ecruteak from the top of this hill,” Chris called over his shoulder. He paused to flash a smile at the girl they were calling Jane Doe.

 

Wiping sweat from her brow, she returned the smile, though it was strained. She wore her curls tied back with a scarf and, in spite of Chris’s cautioning, she’d also selected a long skirt from the hospital lost and found. To Chris’s great surprise, she didn’t seem to have trouble with the skirt catching underfoot or snagging on things — it was a natural extension of her body. She also hadn’t complained or asked for a break once all morning. All the same, Chris repeatedly checked himself and slowed his pace, and he was going to insist on a break at the top of the hill.

 

Bringing up the rear was his sandslash, Tikal. Normally she hiked at Chris’s side — she was the first pokémon he had caught in the wild — but she had taken up the defensive position without being asked. Occasionally she paused to investigate an ekans burrow or sharpen her claws on a boulder, but Chris watched her immediately return to Jane’s heels again and again with a maternal vigilance.

 

“Good girl, Tiki,” he said under his breath.

 

At the top of the rise, Chris unloaded his backpack and stretched while he waited for Jane and Tikal to catch up. He’d guessed right: the Ecruteak City skyline glittered beyond the trees. Bell Tower’s tiers were visible even from here. There were few other tall buildings to confuse with it, and even the tallest could hardly be called skyscrapers — Ecruteak was defensive of its traditions. Below them was Lake Mortar and a scattering of ponds. The water was low from the lack of rain, but they’d still be spending the afternoon with Chris’s lapras.

 

Behind him, Jane crested the hill with a sigh of either relief or appreciation for the natural beauty. Maybe a bit of both. She drank deeply from her water bottle, the only thing she carried.

 

When she finished, Chris pointed and said, “There it is. See it? We’ll be in Ecruteak by dinner time.”

 

Jane frowned. “It looks… strange from here.”

 

“Yeah, I mean… I guess there’s a little bit of a heat mirage. But you’ll see it up close soon enough.”

 

“Yes, I am eager to be home.” She tightened the knot in her scarf. “Shall we?”

 

“Why don’t you sit down for a minute. We should eat something.” Chris bent to look through his backpack. “Here — want some jerky?”

 

Jane took what Chris handed her and smelled it. She watched, frowning, as Chris tore off a piece for himself and stuffed it into his mouth. “What is it?”

 

“Um…” He chewed. “Stantler, I think. You don’t usually see tauros in this part of the country.”

 

She looked aghast. “I cannot eat the flesh of another creature. I know it is rude to reject a gift, but… What if it were my sister?”

 

Chris paused mid-chew. “What do you mean?”

 

“Have you not heard it said that the dead return to us in new forms? To guide us, to protect us?”

 

“Like reincarnation?”

 

“Yes!”

 

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you… I hope you’re not… I have some dried fruit instead?” He took the jerky back from Jane and searched his bag again, red faced.

 

Jane smiled gently as she accepted the bag of trail mix from him. “No, no. Thank you for the offer. I do not wish to be a burden.”

 

“You’re not! I’m sorry I didn’t ask.”

 

“It is no offense. I appreciate you sharing your food.”

 

They lapsed into silence.

 

Nearby, Tikal cleaned between her scales with her long tongue, paying the two of them no mind.

 

Chris rubbed a thumb over Hero’s pokéball. “It’s nice to imagine pokémon as spirits of the dead watching over us. I like that.”

 

“I am surprised you had not heard that before. I thought it was common knowledge.”

 

“Maybe it’s a thing in Ecruteak—I wouldn’t really know,” Chris said with a smile. He met her eyes. “You’re an interesting person.”

 

She smiled and looked away. Then she sighed. “I hardly know what kind of person I am presently…”

 

“Hey, we just learned you’re a vegetarian. That’s something!”

 

“I suppose you are correct! I did not think of it until now.”

 

“So you’re remembering some things. I wonder what else we’re gonna find out about you.” Chris pantomimed stroking his chin. “Do you think you speak any other languages?”

 

She laughed. “I have no idea.”

 

“I think I still remember some high school Spanish. Let’s see… um… Donde esta el bano?”

 

She shook her head and giggled.

 

“No? What about…tienes una pluma?”

 

She abruptly stopped laughing and sat up straight. “That is my name!” she said, wide-eyed.

 

“What, pluma?”

 

“No, Una. I am Una.”

 

Chris smiled. “You’re Una. Happy to have met you, Una.”

After they had eaten some and rested, Chris and Una hiked side by side in amicable silence for a while. The path wove through the dappled shadows of the trees, and they enjoyed the respite from the sun’s intensity.

 

Chris held up a hand for Una to stop and he pointed. A wild spearow perched on a upper branch of a nearby tree, close enough that they could see the gold of its eyes. It watched them. After a beat, it took off — Chris heard Una gasp in delight beside him — and disappear in pursuit of some prey invisible to them.

 

“They’re scruffy and mean,” Chris said with a grin, “but they’re beautiful sometimes too.”

 

“It is a good omen,” she said.

 

As they continued walking, the breeze brought them the smells of the lake: wet earth, algae, and leaf mold. The trees thinned out until the travelers came to the rocky lake shore. To the left, the rocky heights of Mount Mortar cut through the lake at an angle. Water ebbed in and out of cavernous rifts in the rock face, and the echoes of water rushing deep within were audible even from the shore. Straight ahead, Ecruteak City stood out in ever brighter detail. Behind, Chris could barely see the snow-capped peaks of the Dragon’s Spine in the hazy distance. He squared himself against the Ecruteak skyline.

 

Chris returned Tikal to her pokéball — “See you in a while, Tiki,” —and with no hesitation over which pokéball was which, he released his lapras into the lake.

 

She hadn’t fully materialized before she trumpeted joyfully and dove beneath the water. Moments later, the lapras resurfaced, spraying Chris and Una.

 

They cried out, and Chris laughed.

 

“Alright, alright! Hi to you too,” he said. When he smiled fully, his left cheek dimpled but not the right. “Una, meet Kelsey.”

 

With some coaxing, Kelsey flipper-crawled partway onto the shore and lowered her head.

 

Chris removed his hiking boots, strung them from his pack, rolled up his pants, and waded into the shallows to pat Kelsey’s pebbly neck. “Come on up,” he said extending a hand to Una.

 

She stared across the water towards Ecruteak, brow furrowed.

 

“You okay?”

 

Una flashed a smile. “Yes, fine.” Then she eyeballed the lapras towering over them, water lapping at its sides. “We are going to ride her? Is that…?”

 

Chris chuckled. “Kelsey doesn’t care. She does it all the time, huh, you big ol’ dinosaur.”

 

Kelsey keened and snorted more water at them. Her eyes sparkled with intelligence.

 

“Well… how should I…?”

 

“I’ll give you a leg up. Here. Put your foot in my hands. You’re not gonna hurt me—go ahead. Okay. On the count of three, push up with this foot and grab onto her shell. One…two…three!”

 

Una squeaked as Chris boosted her up, but managed to scrambled onto Kelsey’s back. Once she was settled with a leg on either side of the lapras’s muscular neck, Chris found himself some handholds and swung himself up and over to sit sidesaddle between two horns.

 

“Alright, Kels, let’s go!”

 

They lurched and wobbled as the lapras clambered out of the sand and rock. Then they were gliding through open water.

 

“That wasn’t so bad, right? Mostly dry?” Chris leaned back on his pack, letting the sun warm his face. “The very first time I tried to catch a ride on Kelsey, she rolled me. We’re on the same page now though.”

 

Kelsey made a cheerful noise that wasn’t heard so much as felt all through their bodies.

 

Una turned to face him, a little awkwardly, grabbing a horn for stability. “Thank you again for helping me get home. I am so grateful for all of this.”

 

“I’m happy to help. It’s been nice to have company. Besides, I couldn’t just leave you there.”

 

“I would not have liked to have been there much longer,” she agreed. “Everyone was very kind, but… it did not feel right for me. Mahogany Town was much more advanced than I had expected.”

 

The glib comment took him by surprise. What had she expected, he wondered, mud huts and witch doctors? But, seeing the sincerity in Una’s face he said instead, “Well, you mostly saw the hospital.”

 

“I suppose so. All the same, I feel much more myself since departing. I am sure everything will make sense again once I am home.”

 

As they floated along they fell into a sleepy daze, lulled by the heat and the lapras’s gentle rocking motion. The only sounds were birdsong and the slosh of Kelsey’s fins churning the water. Una leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Kelsey’s neck, resting her check against the scales. Chris sat with one knee tucked to his chest and the other foot trailing in the cool water. He alternated between watching the reflected light rippling on the cliff face as they drifted past and staring up at the clouds. He saw a few that looked like pokémon.

 

“Can I ask,” he said after a while, “what was going on with you and that houndoom? Do you remember?”

 

Una sat up slowly. “I remember some. I believe I was in the woods. I’m not sure why... But I know there was a man, and he told it to attack. It lunged towards me. I saw all the teeth and the fire in the back of its throat… and I knew it could kill me.”

 

“Not the one we saw in Mahogany though. Another one.”

 

“Yes, I believe so.”

 

“So what happened? How did you escape?”

 

“I do not remember,” she sighed. A pause. “I cannot be sure, but I do not think that was long ago.”

 

“You think that had something to do with how you ended up in the Ice Pass?”

 

“Perhaps. I am not sure.”

 

He felt a chill in his gut. “Una…do you think you’ll be in danger when you get home?”

 

“I… I do not know.” Without her seeming to notice, her hand flew to the feather that still hung around her neck. “But I hope I will understand more.”

 

Chris wanted to pledge himself to remain in Ecruteak for a few extra days to keep an eye on things, but he held his tongue. That was a promise he couldn’t keep if he still wanted to keep the promises he’d already made to himself. “I hope so too,” he said.

 

“Whatever I find in Ecruteak, it is my home. It is where I need to be.” She turned to gaze at the skyline, growing closer by the moment. “I have the feeling that there is something important I was meant to be doing there, but I cannot remember what it was…”

 

“Don’t push yourself. I bet you’ll remember with time.”

 

She smiled, but it was a distant smile. “I am sure you are correct.”

 

He had been talking to her all day, but he knew scarcely more about her now than when he first saw her in the snow. After today he would likely never see her again, and her mysteries would only be her own. Knowing he had done the right thing would have to be enough.

 

“Ecruteak is a nice city. I can see why you’re in a hurry to be back.”

 

“You have been before?”

 

“Oh yeah, a few times. It’s not far from home. Really pretty in the fall. That’s where I got my jolteon, actually.”

 

“Did you? Then I wonder if we have met before,” Una said, a puzzled expression on her face. “When would that have been…?”

 

“I don’t think so. I would’ve remembered.”

 

“Hmm.”

 

They passed the remainder of the journey saying little. Chris didn’t want to make her anxious with more questions, and he was accustomed to solitude and silence anyway. She seemed content to be left to her thoughts. Several times they dismounted from Kelsey, recalled her, hiked a little ways, and then clambered onto her shell again to cross another pond. The path was rocky but not steep, and they reached Ecruteak’s eastern gate without incident.

 

Una beamed and made an “oh” of longing at the sight of it.

 

The gate was a simple wooden archway painted a faded orange with two crosspieces. Beyond the archway, a few houses in the traditional style were visible along the tree-lined path. The gate was flanked on either side by fruiting shrubs and a stone statue of a bird, the details blurred and made unrecognizable by centuries of weather and wars. “These are in poor condition... Strange.” Una said. Then, “Oh no. Where is the sage?”

 

“Sage?”

 

“Of course,” she said, impatience creeping into her voice. “There should be a basket of sage smudges and a striking flint hanging from the crossbar so we may purify ourselves before we enter the city.”

 

“I don’t remember seeing anything like that any of the times I came through here.” Chris bit his lip.

 

“Well, we cannot simply…” Una looked from side to side, fidgeting with her hands.

 

“I don’t have sage, but…” Chris set down his backpack to procure a pack of matches. “Better than nothing, right?”

 

She looked at the matches, frowning. “Um…”

 

“Right, I guess a lot of folks don’t use matches anymore. Here.” He took back the pack, struck a match, and carefully passed it back to her.

 

Una frowned. “I suppose this will do.” She blew out the match and made an X over each of their heads in smoke— “North, south, east, west. Cleanse me with fire. North, south, east, west. Cleanse him with fire.”

 

The hair on the back of Chris’s neck stood on end.

 

She folded her hands together over the extinguished match and closed her eyes.

 

He waited a long moment and then said, “You ready to head in?”

 

She looked up and forced a smile. “Yes. Yes, I suppose that is fine.”

 

They crossed the threshold and followed the path among the houses. Una darted her head from side to side, squinting at mailboxes and gardens.

 

“Anything looking familiar?”

 

She bit her lip and shook her head. “Not yet…”

 

“Why don’t we cut through the park? That should bring us closer to the dance hall and the main downtown areas. That should help, right?”

 

“Yes, I am sure you are correct,” she said, not looking sure.

 

He lead the way as they cut towards a park on the left. They crossed a stone footbridge over a creek. Small lanterns hung from the trees, but they hadn’t been lit yet. They passed an old woman seated on a bench with a eevee beside her. She laughed at something on her tablet screen, and the gibbering of young children chimed from the speakers. Chris dipped his head to her in greeting, and she returned the gesture.

 

Una lagged behind, staring and frowning deeply.

 

Chris paused for Una to catch up. “Is something wrong?”

 

“I am…uncertain.”

 

“What do you want to do? Do you want to keep going?”

 

After a moment, Una stood straighter and said, “I wish to see the center square.”

 

“Okay.” Chris looked into Una’s face for a long moment before turning and continuing on.

 

She trailed after.

 

They passed a picnicking family, people taking pet pokémon for walks, and a band of teenagers on bicycles — Una squeaked as they flew past. “Do you hear that?” she said.

 

He stopped and cocked his head. “I think it’s just traffic.”

 

Within a few moments, glimpses of concrete and buildings began to show between the trees. The dirt path disappeared, replaced by sidewalk. Chris led them to the edge of the park where it met a narrow street buzzing with cars and bikes. Across the way, lights glittered from the shingled awnings above shops and vending machines. From here the elaborately carved roof of the dance theater was visible, but it was many blocks ahead. Turning one way, Chris caught scent of meat on a charcoal grill. Turning the other, he smelled gardenias and the chlorine in the sprinkler system.

 

He turned to ask Una where she wanted to go, but he stopped when he saw the look on her face.

 

“This is all wrong,” she said, hugging herself. She flinched as a car passed. “This is not Ecruteak.”

 

Chris laughed nervously. “Yes, it is. Look, you can see Bell Tower from here.” He pointed northwest to the distant pagoda tiers.

 

Una furrowed her brow and shook her head. Then her eyes suddenly went wide. “No, there should be two!” she said.

 

“What?”

 

She shot him an earnest, pained look. “Chris, something terrible must have happened. Where is Brass Tower?”

 

Goosebumps broke out along Chris’s arms. “There is no other tower. Or I guess there was, but it burned down hundreds of years ago. More than once, I think.”

 

“Burned down? How could it have burned down? That makes no sense!”

 

Passersby shot them odd looks as her voice grew louder. “Maybe we should sit down?” He steered her to a stone bench under the shade of a tree. He said softly, “I think maybe your memory is still mixed up.”

 

Hey eyes blazed. “No. I know I remember two towers.” She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “I helped polish the floors. It was always warm inside, even in winter… I know I remember it. We have to go there and find out what happened.”

 

Chris bit his cheek. “There’s a historical marker and a museum where the tower used to be... Do you want to see that?”

 

She snapped to attention. “Yes. Please, let us go there.”

 

“It’s kind of far from here. We’d have to take a bus.”

 

“Show me.”

 

Stomach knotted with dread, Chris used his Bitflex to navigate to the nearest bus stop, coaxing Una along. She clamped onto his backpack with a white-knuckled grip, gawking at the cars and lights. A fire engine screamed past and Una froze in the middle of the crosswalk to cover her ears until Chris pulled her forward.

 

At last, he herded her onto the bus —she covered her nose and mouth at the diesel smell — and swiped his OneCard for the both of them.

 

Once seated, she squeezed her eyes shut, one hand to the feather around her neck and chanted under her breath, “As the sun rises in the east, as the sun sets in the sea. As the sun rises in the east, as the sun sets in the sea…” Both hands flew out to brace her each time the bus braked or made a sudden turn.

 

Chris watched the streets whiz past as they made their way to the northeast corner of the city. His shirt was damp with sweat. He didn’t know what the next step should be—he wasn’t good at this kind of thing. Bringing her here by himself was a mistake.

 

When they finally disembarked, she staggered to a nearby wall and sighed as she leaned into it.

 

“Was that your first time riding a bus?”

 

She nodded miserably.

 

“Well…We’re almost there.”

 

This part of town was quieter: less foot traffic, fewer shops, no cars. Flowering trees lined the cobblestone streets. Chris chewed at the inside of his cheek and glanced nervously at Una as they crossed the few blocks in between and approached the ruins site.

 

Ahead was the Ecruteak History Museum, a minimalistic and modern building. Beyond that was a man made pond studded with lotuses. Reflected on its surface were the pillars that stood alone in an otherwise flat area beside the lake, walled in by trees.

 

Una froze and stared for a moment before rushing ahead. She bypassed the informational plaque at the site entrance to kneel over a block of tempered glass set into the earth containing an arrangement of blackened tiles. “No, no, no, no…”

 

Chris hung back. After a moment he shrugged off his backpack beside the plaque and bent to read:

 

The Brass Tower was built during the Itun period (1300 A.D.) to honor a mythical bird pokémon. It burned down mysteriously in 1519, possibly due to a lightning strike. The tower was later reconstructed but burned down a second time during the Johto-Kanto wars (1589-1599.) In 1950, the tower was damaged by fire a third time by an arsonist and was never rebuilt. The ruins were demolished in 1983 during the development of the Grand Hyatt Ecruteak Hotel. Remaining tiles and replicas of the original pillars were relocated to this historic monument site in 1985.

 

There was also a labeled illustration of the original tower design paired against a black and white photo of the half-crumbling, fire damaged tower.

 

He glanced up to see Una circling one of the pillars, tracing the carvings. She caught his gaze.

 

Chris shivered involuntarily. He moved to join her, hands in his pockets.

 

“I do not understand,” she said with mournful eyes. “This is Brass Tower, but… I was here mere days ago. I was given robes in this room. Or… I thought it was only days ago. How long have I been gone?”

 

“What if…” Chris tried to swallow but his mouth was dry. He spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. “Una, do you think it’s possible that you lived here…five hundred years ago?”

 

She clutched the feather around her neck, wide-eyed. “How could that be?”

 

“I don’t know. It sounds crazy, but maybe it’s not. I mean, that would be more than just teleportation. Then again, pokémon can do lots of things we barely understand…”

 

“Five hundred years…” She put a hand on the pillar to steady herself. Her voice trembled. “But that would mean… My parents. The priests. Enju, Ranya, Aren... Everyone is gone.”

 

Chris bit his lip.

 

Una closed her eyes and was silent for a long moment. “This is not my home, not anymore. Nothing here makes sense. There is nothing for me here.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

She covered her face with one hand. “Give me a moment. Please.”

 

Chris cleared his throat. “Sure.” He turned to gather up his backpack and glanced over his shoulder once. Una leaned against the pillar, face buried in the crook of her arm, shoulders shaking soundlessly. He walked quickly around the corner.

 

A few blocks away, he found a QuickMart. He passed the displays of key chains and postcards and found the self-serve coffee station. He started for a small cup but changed his mind and opted for a large one. He gathered up a few more snacks — no jerky — before slowly making his way back to the burned tower memorial site.

 

He found Una sitting on a bench facing away from the site, knees drawn to her chest. Her face was splotchy red. Chris sat beside her and offered her the styrofoam cup. She shook her head.

 

They sat without speaking. Chris alternated between sipping coffee and breaking off pieces of the wooden stirring stick until he was left with a handful of splinters.

 

Finally Una said, “Where will you go now?”

 

Chris let the splinters fall to the grass. “I was on my way to Blackthorn City,” he said, staring into the distance. He couldn’t see the mountains from here. “Then, if I can get there in time, I’ll go to the Indigo Plateau in Kanto. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to make it, but I gotta try.”

 

“Can I come with you?”

 

He snapped his head around to look at her and made several sounds that were not words. After a moment he managed to choke out, “It’s dangerous where I’m going!”

 

She said nothing.

 

“For one thing, you’d have to buy all new gear. A good coat alone is gonna be at least two hundred dollars, probably more. A backpack is probably — what am I saying. There’s no point. It’s not possible.” He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “Maybe…you could stay and work with the museum? Or maybe the dance hall? I bet I could get you a place to stay with one of them…”

 

“Please.”

 

He looked down to avoid her gaze.

 

“Please, I cannot bear to stay here among ghosts. Everything here is so loud and wrong. I do not know where to go or how to navigate among these machines. I will not suffer another…bus. I can find a way to be helpful to you.”

 

He bit his cheek.

 

“Chris, please.”

 

“Listen, I’m sorry but the bottom line is I can’t afford to take you with me. I’m out of time, and neither of us have the money it would take to prepare you for this kind of journey. I wish I could, but I don’t have more help to offer you. I’m sorry.”

 

She was quiet for a moment. “What if we had more money?”

 

“I dunno, Una. It would take a lot more than I have. I don’t even know where we could find that type of money in a short amount of time. I’m already behind schedule.”

 

“Where are my robes?”

 

Chris had bundled them up in his pack for her. He handed her the roll of fabric.

 

She unrolled the cloth and spread it across her lap, running a finger along the embroidered designs. “I remember now,” she said. “This was to be my bridal gown, in a sense. My family could not afford a traditional dowry, especially after Suki fell ill with fever. So my father planned to apprentice a village boy, and I was to serve under the priests and be a bride to the gods instead.

 

“You see—here is the tower surrounded by trees in bloom. And here, on the other side, is Tin Tower. Two towers, two gods. One for sunrise, one for sunset. One for sun, one for rain. One to nurture and one to protect. All the rest represents their gifts to us. I was meant to offer my own gifts to them… Of all the colors in the rainbow, the priests said they saw blue in me. Perhaps because I cry so easily. Blue for water, blue for peaceful skies.

 

“I went to the woods—my bridal chamber—to fast, pray, and wait for a sign that I was ready for the vocation. But then I was attacked, and…” She sighed. “I cannot remember what happened next. But I know all this to be true.”

 

Una looked up and met Chris’s eyes. “If what you say is true and these robes are from another time…from five hundred years ago…then perhaps they will be valuable to someone else now.”

 

Chris stammered, “Are you sure? You don’t want to keep it?”

 

She shook her head. “The gods have gone from here. This does me no good.” She folded the robe and cloak and handed them back to Chris.

 

“I wouldn’t even know where to begin to try to sell something like this. I guess we could see if someone at the museum has ideas. There’s no guarantee we’ll find anything helpful though. It might not be worth anything.”

 

“We can try.”

 

Chris didn’t have any other ideas, so he shouldered his bag, poured out the rest of the coffee, and then they headed into the museum. Inside was all sharp lines and soft light. Chris was immediately aware of the dirt on his boots and the weight of the bundled robe and cloak in his arms. Even as he approached the admissions kiosk, he felt his face redden.

 

“Good afternoon and welcome to the Ecruteak History Museum. Is this your first visit with us?”

 

“It is…”

 

“Wonderful. So will that be two tickets?”

 

“Uh actually… I’m sorry, I know this is a weird request, but I was actually hoping I might be able to show these items to someone. If it’s convenient. They’re, um, antique.”

 

The receptionist squinted. “I can see if Doctor Lamia is available. What kind of items did you want her to look at?”

 

“It’s an embroidered robe. Possibly a bridal robe.”

 

“Let me go find out.” She rose and went to a wall phone. Chris watched her but couldn’t hear what was said from where he stood. Moments later she returned and said, “You’re in luck. Normally our curators don’t take drop-ins, but she has a free moment. She’ll said she’ll be right out if you wanted to take a seat while you wait.”

 

They settled into a corner near the entrance.

 

Shortly after, they were approached by a woman wearing a cardigan and latex gloves. She pulled one off to shake their hands. “I’m Doctor Ann Lamia. You have a costume — a garment— you wanted to show me? Let’s see it.”

 

Chris unrolled the robe, passing the cloak to Una to hold.

 

Doctor Lamia pulled a small black light from a pocket and swept it over the robe as she looked over the embroidered detail, turning a sleeve over in her gloved hand. “The details in this piece are definitely intriguing. If it’s a replica, it’s good one. Looks like there are some grass stains…Is there a story behind how this robe came to you?”

 

“Uh…” Chris and Una exchanged looks. “Una found it… in her family’s attic. Family heirloom.”

 

Una nodded.

 

“Was there another piece?”

 

Chris took the cloak from Una’s hands and started to unroll it, but Doctor Lamia stopped him. “That one isn’t the type of thing the museum is interested in right now. Though the brooch… Looks like bronze?” She spent a few moments examining the grooves in the metal before shaking her head and handing it back.

 

Doctor Lamia stood straighter. She looked like she was resisting a smile. “The robe is definitely an interesting piece. I’d love to take some photos and have you leave your contact information with Marybeth in case we decide your garments fit into our board’s acquisition plan.”

 

Una sighed and Chris’s heart sank. “Oh. Well, you see… I’m a trainer, and… We were hoping to leave for Blackthorn City tonight.”

 

Doctor Lamia frowned. “That’s too bad… This isn’t official yet, but—” a conspiratorial smile crept across her face and she leaned forward to speak in low tones, “—we’re planning for an exhibit on ancient folk religion of the area, and these pieces could potentially pair well with a few costumes from our permanent collection that we’re considering. I wonder if… Do you have a little time to visit the archives with me?”

 

“Uh sure!”

 

She lead them past glass cases of arrowheads, painted vases, brush and ink drawings, and a wall of masks. Along one wall was a door marked “Employees Only.” She unlocked it and ushered them through. They found themselves in a dimly lit corridor. As Chris’s eyes adjusted he saw shelves stacked with boxes all along the walls on each side. He caught snatches of a few of the labels as they passed: coat (winter, embroidered,) coat (farmer,) dusting cloths, futon cover (hemp,) mosquito netting.

 

“Here,” said Doctor Lamia, pulling a coffin-sized box from the shelf and setting it on a nearby table. She lifted the lid and parted a layer of tissue paper to reveal the faded red bell sleeve of a robe, and in the layer below another in gold. Like Una’s robe, both were decorated in a brocade of diamonds filled with intricate scenes, though the threads on these were frayed and some places had been worn bare. “These remind me of your costume, though yours is in astonishingly good shape, especially the color. Indigo infamously fades over the years, which makes me think that what you have is a replica. Though the stitch work is impressive — very similar to what we see in pieces from earlier centuries.

 

“As you can see, we already have the red and gold sets, so adding a blue set to the collection — even if it’s not an original — would provide some interesting storytelling opportunities when talking about folk religion and pokémon worship in this area. However… I need to know more about the replica — where it came from, when it was made — before I could consider adding it to our collection. Would you mind if I ran a test?”

 

Chris glanced at Una, who stared down at the faded red robe in the storage box. “Yeah, sure,” he answered.

 

“Wonderful. This shouldn’t take long.” Doctor Lamia closed the box again and returned it to the shelf. Then she took the robe from Chris, laid it out on the table atop of a sheet of tissue paper, and then pulled a pokéball from her cardigan pocket. From it she released a xatu. “Hello, Crates. I’ve got some gazing for you to do.”

 

It blinked sleepily. Then its eyes glowed blue-white in the dim light. After a moment, so did Doctor Lamia’s. It lasted for only a few seconds, but afterward she gasped for breath as if she’d been held underwater.

 

She stared at the xatu, first squinting and then with wide eyes. “Are you sure?”

 

It cocked its head to one side and then the other.

 

“Of course, I trust you. Thank you.” With that, she recalled it into its pokéball.

 

Afterimages of the red light swam in Chris’s vision.

 

“This isn’t strictly allowed…,” began Doctor Lamia, “but considering we’re in a time crunch…I’ll handle the fallout later. Or I’ll call it a donation from my personal collection and write it off for tax purposes… Anyway, I am very interested in taking this robe. Did you have a price in mind?”

 

“Oh!” Chris hurriedly calculated: coat, sleeping bag, boots, backpack — “We were hoping for about a thousand. If that seems possible.”

 

He sensed her making calculations of her own, underlaid with subtle smugness. “I can commit to eight hundred.” She cleared her throat. “Considering it’s a replica. Would that work for you?”

 

Chris bowed his head and accepted.

 

Later, outside the museum with money in hand, Una repeated the question. “So. What do you think? Is it enough?”

 

Chris took a deep breath. “Yeah, this could maybe do it, but… Are you sure? You could take this and get yourself set up in an apartment until you can find a job, something for now. This could be an opportunity to start over.”

 

“I cannot stay here. I will go with you.”

 

Chris nodded. That was the answer he had expected. “It’s gonna be hard. It won’t be like this morning’s hike.”

 

“I understand. I can do it.”

 

Chris bit his lip.“This is a huge risk…” He counted off ways one or both of them could be hurt, ways he could be set back even further. In normal circumstances, she would’ve started training for the Ice Pass weeks ago. But he looked into her face, and something in him crumbled. “Alright. Let’s go spend some money before I start thinking about what a bad idea this is.”


	5. Visitations

**4: Visitations**

That evening, Chris found a budget spaghetti joint where they could eat in relative quiet while he figured out their next step. Despite the wad of cash in his coat pocket — too fat to fit in his belt buckle compartment — he was reluctant to pay for a hostel. As summer festivals and the Indigo Conference drew close, any bunk would be pricey, and he knew they’d need every cent to provision Una for the road. Making camp in the dark was also not appealing, especially when she didn’t have any gear yet. Finally, Chris accepted there was no other choice but to call the one friend he made during his three week stay in Ecruteak all those months ago, and to hope they were still friends.

 

Miki’s apartment was small and simple but it was also in the middle of Old City with a view of the dance hall, as well as a sofa for Una to sleep on and room on the floor for Chris to lay out his sleeping bag. “I wish I knew how to repay you for your generosity, Miki,” he said.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s the least I can do.” Somehow elegant even in her jeans and house slippers, she set a tea tray on the coffee table.

 

Una smiled at the sight of the clay tea bowls. “I have been longing for a proper cup of tea. I had begun to fear the traditional ways were gone completely.”

 

“Goodness no. This tea set belonged to my grandmother and her grandmother before that.” She knelt on a floor cushion beside Chris. “Is this your first time in Ecruteak, Una?”

 

She looked down, tucking her curls behind her ears. “Yes.”

 

Miki said, “Oh you’ll love it here if you’re interested in history and tradition. Chris, you’ll have to bring her by the dance hall tomorrow. I’ll be working, but I can make sure someone will be around to let you in and show you the original tea room and some of the ink paintings, at least.”

 

“Thank you, Miki,” he said, “but we’re only in town for tonight. I’m racing the clock to get to the Indigo Plateau, unfortunately.”

 

“Hm.” Miki smiled wryly, leaning her chin in her hand. Her girlish bob and speaking style made it difficult to judge her age. Some moments she seemed just this side of adulthood and others, like now, she seemed much older. “You never stand still.”

 

Chris smiled nervously. “I guess not.”

 

“So tell me,” Miki said, saving him from having to figure out how to change the subject, “do you still have that eevee I gave you?”

 

Miki’s small talk was an art form. She flitted from one topic to another, guiding them past awkward silences and heaviness as if it were easy to do. Why had Chris expected anything less from her? After all, she was trained not just for grace on stage but in also in conversation. All the same, he knew her well enough to be aware of the way she evaded his gaze, her careful posture, her questioning glances at Una.

 

When she retired to her bedroom at last, Chris was relieved.

 

Even as he nestled into his sleeping bag and arranged a few floor cushions under his head, Chris knew he was going to have a hard time falling asleep, and not only because of the sounds of traffic outside. Incense, floor polish, and something delicate and floral permeated the apartment, smells Chris had associated with the dance hall but now realized were the smells of Miki’s life broadly. Those smells brought him back to the hours he’d spent standing outside her dressing room with his pokémon at his feet, trying to look tough even as he glanced anxiously up and down the hallway, one arm in a sling. Dancers he didn’t know giggling at him from behind their fans. Knowing he looked young and foolish to them, to himself even, and still so eager to prove himself, somehow.

 

In the dark, he heard Una rustling and knew she was having trouble sleeping too. The knowledge made him feel both less and more alone.

 

A bus passed on the street below, and Una said softly, “So much has changed. So many strange sounds. At least a few familiar things remain. Miki is old-fashioned by your standards, correct?”

 

Chris made a noise of agreement.

 

“I like her.”

 

“Yeah, she’s nice.”

 

He heard her roll over. “How do you know each other?”

 

Chris folded his hands under his head and stared up at the ceiling. “I helped her out once. There was this guy…” A self-described fan, Miki explained after. The man had been writing her letters for months, but his increasingly desperate ramblings had gotten lost in the tides of dance hall fan mail. Finally, he had decided to take action one night when she was walking home from a show. “I didn’t know what I was doing — I’d only been away from home for a couple weeks — but I stepped in.”

 

“What did you do?”

 

Chris blushed, glad for the cover of darkness. “I dunno. I tackled him. Stupid.”

 

Una propped herself up on one elbow and gazed down at him. “How so?”

 

“Well, not stupid, I guess.” After all, what else was he supposed to do, let it happen? “Reckless. The gym here has trap doors — ghost-types — and I had a rough time of it the first run through. Sprained my wrist and dislocated my shoulder. Tackling that guy made it worse. I couldn’t train or even travel for about three weeks after. So Miki paid me for a while to walk her home from the dance hall, keep an eye on the door, that kind of thing. Honestly, she was a better trainer than I was at the time, but I think she felt bad.”

 

Miki’s eyes on him under the streetlight. Maybe I like your company.

 

“You were brave.”

 

“I guess so.”

 

But he wasn’t. He knew why she invited him out for ramen with her after practices and performances, though he pretended not to know. Technically, there was nothing wrong with sharing a meal with a friend. But each time she asked, each time he said yes, it was harder to imagine telling her no. He hadn’t known what to say — still didn’t.

 

Una’s voice cut into his thoughts, “She seemed a little sad.”

 

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Hey… I’m starting to drift off.”

 

“Of course.” The sofa creaked as she settled back onto the cushions. “Goodnight, Chris.”

 

“Night.”

 

After a while, he heard Una’s breath deepen and slow, and still he lay looking up at the ceiling.

Early the next morning, they left a thank you note on the coffee table with Una’s copper brooch on top, and they and made their way to a secondhand trainer supply shop in a part of town with palm readers and tattoo parlors on nearly every block.

 

Chris led Una to the women’s clothing racks. “I’m gonna look for a sleeping bag. Why don’t you find a couple shirts and a good pair of pants. You want merino wool, not cotton or synthetic, if you can help it.” She threw him a panicked look, and he took a step back. “I’ll be right back. Just see what you can find.”

 

Passing between cities had given Chris plenty of experience trading in his out-of-season equipment and digging through bargain bins for other trainers’ discards. As often as not, he’d found almost new equipment sold off by former trainers who’d realized early in their journeys they didn’t have what it takes to make it on the road. Most trainers ended their careers that way. With little searching, Chris found a zero degree sleeping bag. The shop didn’t carry any liners, but he hoped that the down bag would make up the difference — it was nicer than his own sleeping bag. The coat and the backpack were more troublesome. Even secondhand, there was nothing inexpensive of acceptable quality. Combined, the coat and the backpack took up half the money from the museum. The boots were nearly another quarter of it. But there was nothing to do about it. They were important.

 

He tracked down Una again and had her try the coat, boots, and pack on for size.

 

“It feels correct,” she said, looking less than certain.

 

Chris remembered her stubborn stoicism on the hike into Ecruteak and realized she wouldn’t say so if it weren’t fine. “Where does it feel like the weight is hitting?”

 

He had her try another. After some tugging and adjusting of straps, Chris decided he was as satisfied with it as he’d ever be.

 

Then he glanced down and saw Una had several skirts draped over her arm. “Um. I don’t think you’ll need those. For the kind of hike we have coming up, you really need something more like these.” He pulled a pair of ski pants off the rack.

 

She flinched. “But that is men’s clothing.”

 

He took a breath and said as kindly as he could, “Not anymore. Look at her.” He pointed her towards a girl in rolled up pants who was reordering a clothing rack. When Una still looked unconvinced, he added, “I’m sorry, but it’s about health and safety. If you want to go where I’m going, this is how it needs to be.”

 

Una furrowed her brow, but accepted the hanger from him. “I will trust you.”

 

He steered her towards a dressing room. As she walked away, Chris rubbed his face and let out a long breath. “You agreed to this,” he said under his breath. “You’re responsible now.”

 

It took longer than he would’ve liked, but finally they gathered up their haul and paid. They came away with the sleeping bag, a sleeping pad, the boots, the backpack, the coat, two FlashDry shirts and the pants. To his surprise, the idea of wearing the same clothes over and over didn’t seem to faze Una in the least— then again, maybe that was what she was used to. He couldn’t imagine what life must’ve been like five hundred years ago.

 

After stocking up on a few other small supplies, the museum money was done.

 

For their RediMeal rations (veggie and soy protein for Una,) they had to dip into Chris’s existing funds. He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he handed over his OneCard, but tried to reassure himself that he would’ve spent the money on food eventually anyway.

 

But there was still the problem of the tent.

 

The secondhand store had several in stock, but each was more than what they could afford—this wasn’t enough of an emergency yet to spend the money he’d set aside, just in case, for a flight home. He had hoped to at least trade in his two-person tent for a three-person — normally Hero slept next to him, six feet and several inches of energy-efficient heating — but he simply didn’t have enough for the upgrade, let alone to buy Una her own tent.

 

The thought of sharing a tent with her bothered him more than he was prepared to say out loud.

 

“Are you sure you’re okay with that?” He asked for at least the third time that morning.

 

“No, nothing about this is okay,” she said with disarming calm. “But if the only other option is to stay in this place, then we must make do. Perhaps there are answers out there somewhere for what has happened to me, to my home. If so, I must find them. I will do whatever you say is best, Chris.”

 

And that was that.

The hike out of Ecruteak was harder than the hike in, both because Una was carrying weight now and because they were slowly but surely climbing uphill. Not long after they crossed the first lake, she started to lag behind, and Chris stopped to let her and Tikal catch up. He didn’t have to badger her into resting this time. She still didn’t utter a single complaint, but she leaned against a tree trunk, breathing hard.

 

“I apologize for my slowness,” she said after a moment, fidgeting with her shoulder straps.

 

“No, Una, it’s okay.” He sighed. “Here, let me take a look at your pack and see if I can take on a bit more weight for you.”

 

She stood and tugged the backpack higher onto her shoulders. “No, I will carry it. You are already carrying so much more than I.” It was true — Chris had not only the tent but also an assortment of pokémon food, medicines, supplements, and other training gear. “I will strive to keep up.”

 

“I don’t want you to strain yourself either. I’m used to carrying all of this.”

 

There came a piercing trill from behind them.

 

Tikal rose up on her hind legs and froze.

 

Chris swiveled until he found the yellow eyes of a massive noctowl staring down at them from a nearby tree. The branch bent under her weight. She preened, but her eyes never left them.

 

“What a big noctowl. I have never seen one during the day.” She shot Chris a worried look. “Do you think it’s an omen?”

 

He smiled and said, “It’s just another trainer.” He pointed out the tie-dyed band around one of her legs.

 

Moments later they heard the trainer’s footsteps approaching downhill, and then he appeared from around the bend, lanky with long hair and a bandana. “What did you find, M.J.?” he called to his pokémon. Then he caught sight of Chris and Una and sauntered over. “Hey, strangers! How are you enjoying this beautiful afternoon?”

 

“Hey. Coming from Mahogany?” This time of year, few trainers traveled west from Mahogany Town unless they were circumnavigating the Ice Pass, taking the longer but safer route up the foothills outside Violet City. (Chris himself was an exception, he supposed.)

 

“Yup. Making a quick trip home before I head to Olivine. I’m working on my cousin’s farm to earn a little extra cash through League season.”

 

“I grew up in Olivine. Who’s your cousin?” he asked, and immediately regretted it.

 

“Right on. You know Josh Bloom?”

 

“Oh. No, I don’t.” Chris shooed away Tikal, who had crouched between him and the trainer, spines angled in the noctowl’s direction. “So, no Indigo Conference for you, huh?”

 

“Nah, I’m not gonna try to force it this late in the season. Maybe next year. For now, I might as well enjoy myself, right M.J.?” His noctowl had closed its eyes and seemed to be napping. “You’re not still going for it, are you?”

 

“Yeah. I am.” Chris squared his shoulders.

 

“Good for you. Best of luck, man.” The noctowl trainer’s smile had a touch of pity in it. “Guess you don’t have time for a quick battle then, huh?”

 

Chris stole a quick glance at Una, who blinked at him in good-humored puzzlement. He slid out of his backpack. “Actually, a think a quick battle is exactly what I need right now. Let’s take a break, Una.”

 

“Cool,” said the trainer, recalling his noctowl. “One on one, or…?”

 

“Sounds great.”

 

“How much do you want to put on it?”

 

His mind still on this morning’s shopping excursion, Chris didn’t have to think long. “Is fifty okay?”

 

“Sure.”

 

Chris recalled Tikal. Then he and the other trainer shook hands, eyes locked, searching each other for clues to weaknesses. The hair on the back of Chris’s neck prickled, and he smiled.

 

Una trailed behind as Chris retreated a few yards. “What are we doing?”

 

“With a little luck, winning back some of that backpack money.” He chose a pokéball from his belt and watched the other trainer do the same. “On three?” he called.

 

The trainer nodded.

 

“One…two…three—”

 

“Let’s go, Magic!”

 

“Come on, Hero!”

 

The typhlosion burst out roaring. Across the way, the other trainer’s parasect clacked its claws.

 

“Give it some heat, Hero!”

 

The other trainer smirked. “Dust it.”

 

The parasect shook itself from side to side, layers of its mushroom shell jiggling. Black dust showered from its sides and there was a chemical odor. A spurt of flames hit the parasect head-on, and it squealed, momentarily stunned. But black particles already filled the air.

 

Hero inhaled to prepare another fireball, but choked. He coughed sparks and dropped to all fours.

 

“Chris,” Una said behind him.

 

“I know,” he said. “Push through, Hero. Flame charge it!”

 

The typhlosion growled and coughed but flared the flames around its neck. The parasect tried to scuttle out of the way, but it was much too slow. When they collided, the smell of burnt plastic filled the air.

 

“Chris!”

 

“Again, Hero!”

 

“Hang on, Magic! Leech seed.”

 

As Hero swung its head, trying to roll the parasect onto its back, white tendrils shot out from the shadowy underside of the mushroom cap and lassoed Hero’s legs. The two tangled together and fell, stirring up more black dust.

 

Suddenly, Una was pulling Chris’s arm, the shock of it unbalancing him. “Chris, stop! Why are you doing this?”

 

“What are you talking about?” He yanked free and turned back to the battle to see Hero trying to do the same.

 

The other trainer, taking no heed of the spat on the opposite side of the field, called, “Slash! Go for the throat!”

 

“They are hurting each other!”

 

“I know, Una!”

 

Hero bellowed. The parasect’s claws scrabbled in the dirt.

 

“And Hero’s going to get hurt more if you don’t let me concentrate—”

 

“Then call Hero back!” Una grabbed his arm again and spun him to look at her. “End this. Please.”

 

“Let go!”

 

“Please!”

 

“FINE!”

 

Chris recalled Hiro into his pokéball, leaving the parasect to thud to the ground, and turned his back towards Una.

 

The other trainer blurted, “That’s it? You quit?”

 

“Yeah. I quit,” Chris said. “Sorry.”

 

“Too bad.” The trainer recalled his parasect with a nervous laugh. “I thought I was about to see Magic beat a fire-type.”

 

Chris closed the distance between them. “Here’s your winnings,” he said, holding out a few bills. When the other trainer didn’t take it, he insisted, “I yielded, so you won. Take it.”

 

“Cool. Thanks for being cool, man. I hope you make it to the Indigo Plateau and all.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Well…Good luck!” The trainer put his backpack on again and cast Chris and Una one last nervous smile before waving and continuing down the path out of sight.

 

Chris took a deep breath. “So what was that?”

 

“I thought you were a good person,” said Una. She looked away, hand over her mouth.

 

“I don’t understand what you’re upset about.”

 

She spun on him, eyes ablaze. “They are sacred!” She was visibly shaking, fists at her sides. “They are the voices of the wind and the water and the trees and the earth itself, our guardians and protectors, the souls of our ancestors — and you use them for sport!”

 

He held up his hands. “I promise, Hero’s fine. pokémon heal faster than we do. It’s not as serious as you’re making it out to be.”

 

“You cannot treat the spirits like playthings!”

 

Chris clenched his jaw. “I don’t think of them as playthings. They’re… partners. They like the competition as much as I do. They listen to me because they trust me.”

 

“And if Hero wished to leave, would he be free to do so?”

 

A snappy answer didn’t come to Chris fast enough.

 

“I need to be alone,” Una said. She turned and slipped between the trees, leaving Chris standing alone on the trail with his mouth open.

 

After a moment, Chris dragged his backpack to a nearby boulder, took a seat, and began unpacking his pokémon medicine kit. Once he had everything he needed laid out on a flat surface, he let Hero back out of his pokéball.

 

Hero came out swinging and snarling and coughing smoke.

 

“Hey, hey, easy. The fight’s over, buddy.”

 

The typhlosion focused his gaze on Chris and slowly lowered his flames. Then he let out a long groan and flopped over on his side.

 

“Oh, don’t be dramatic. Come on.”

 

The hard part was dosing Hero with the antitoxin, which had to be sprayed under the tongue or into the cheek pouch. Hero wasn’t hurt badly, which meant that medicating him became a wrestling match. Chris came away with one sleeve singed and the other wet with slobber, but moments later the anti-fungal began to take effect and Hero’s breathing eased. Then Chris checked Hero over with gentle hands, bandaging lacerations and applying an ointment to bruises. He spoke in low tones to his pokémon while he worked.

 

“You did good earlier. I’m sorry I had to pull you out. It wasn’t your fault.

 

“We’re in a tough spot, Hero. I want to do the right thing, but I’m not sure what that is. I feel like the more I try to help, the weirder things get. I probably should’ve let her stay in Mahogany, huh? Well, thanks a lot for not saying something sooner.”

 

Hero yawned.

 

“We’re not gonna make it to The Indigo Plateau in time, are we?” Chris sighed.

 

He was cut short by a scream.

 

“Una!” Chris jumped to his feet, and Hero plunged ahead off the path. Chris ducked between the trees, not caring that he slid on loose rocks and gravel as he bounded downhill. “Una!” he called again. “Where are you?”

 

“Here!”

 

Moments later he spotted her yellow hair shining through the foliage. He found her with her back against a large tree trunk, clutching in both hands the feather that hung around her neck, but uninjured.

 

Hero sniffed her, rose onto his hind legs to sniff the air, and then wandered away to scuffle around in the undergrowth.

 

Chris panted, “Are you okay?”

 

Una stood straight, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Yes. I apologize if I gave you a fright. Something startled me, that is all. I am unharmed.”

 

“What was it?”

 

“I have no idea, in all honesty. Something flew towards me, but it disappeared before I could identify it.”

 

“Glad it was just a false alarm.” Chris checked the time on his Bitflex. “Look…it’s getting late. Let’s find a place to set up camp and call it a day.”

They made camp near one of the lakes. Chris pitched the tent and tasked Una with collecting firewood. They ate in uneasy silence, Una looking at the ground and Chris craning his neck to watch the sinking sun turn the Dragon’s Spine mountains red and then blue.

 

At last, Chris stood and cleared his throat. “I’m going to run drills with my pokémon for a while. I’ve got a book and a headlamp, if you want.”

 

Una shook her head. “I am content to sit with my thoughts.”

 

Chris went almost to the water’s edge, keeping his back to the campsite and gathering small pieces of wood as he walked. He took up a pokéball, and peacefulness washed over him. He breathed deep and listened to the water lapping at the shore.

 

Then he sent out Sonic, letting the jolteon run in circles until he was calm enough for training exercises. One by one, he tossed the pieces of wood into the air, sometimes calling for Sonic to catch them and other times to blast them down. Sonic didn’t miss one. Sparks danced over the darkening water.

 

He didn’t hear Una approach until she was almost right next to him. He froze mid-throw. “Oh, hi.”

 

“Hello.”

 

Chris let the stick drop and kicked it away. “Alright, Sonic. Come on back.” Not until the jolteon vanished in a flash of red light did Chris realize how dark it had become.

 

“You are free to continue if you wish.”

 

“It’s okay. I was about done anyway.” He put his hands in his pockets, biting his cheek. “So, what do you want to do? Do you want to stay in Mahogany Town, or…?”

 

“I do not know.”

 

“I don’t know either.”

 

Una unlaced her boots and waded into the shallows, carrying her new boots by the laces.

 

Chris followed suit. “I have a hard time believing there were no pokémon trainers five hundred years ago. Didn’t you call on them to defend from invaders and things like that?”

 

“It was not like what you do here. Now.” She steadied herself with a breath. “Even that word is new, pokémon. We do not trap spirits in our pockets. They come and go freely, and we thank them for their help with food offerings. It requires an uncommon person to tame a forest spirit.”

 

“It’s pretty common now. Growing up, most everybody I knew wanted to be a trainer someday.” He bent to pick out a smooth, flat stone and flicked it out over the water. “I can only imagine what it looks like through your eyes, and I don’t know what to tell you to make you feel differently about it. But this is who I am. This is the only way I get to be out in the wilderness like this, getting to be close to pokémon every day. All I can tell you is this is where I feel right.”

 

Una made no response but to skip a stone too. It went out further than Chris’s had. Then the stone sank and the water was still.

 

Until it wasn’t. Ripples spread toward them from somewhere else.

 

Chris swept his gaze across the water and in the middle-distance he saw a hazy figure, shimmering faintly in the sunset’s last rays. Beside him, Una gasped, and he knew she was seeing it too. It was moving towards them, quickly. As it sped over the water, the haze resolved into a four-legged shape. Wings fluttered behind it — no, a mane. Horns.

 

The creature stopped at the center of the lake, effortlessly suspended on top of the water. For what felt like a long, long time, it stood unmoving save for the breeze in its mane. No one and nothing made a sound. It was still too far away to make out details in the dim light, but somehow Chris could feel it staring at him.

 

Chris didn’t dare break the silence to invoke the creature’s name aloud, but he did know its name. Of course he knew its name.

 

Slowly, with intent, it walked across the water to them.

 

It was an exquisite impossibility.

 

Una dropped to her knees in the water.

 

One step at a time, it drew closer, becoming more unreal and yet truer with each step, until finally Suicune stood only a few feet away, towering over them. Its diamond horns forked into the sky, and it regarded him with unblinking red eyes.

 

You. Without words and without speaking, she spoke — Chris couldn’t help but think of that voice as female. It was a voice made of brambles, quicksilver, and water over stone, neither kind nor unkind. I never searched for you, she said. I knew one day we would meet. And so we have, after all this time.

 

Chris held his breath. His heart thundered.

 

I owe you a debt, Chris Nakano. Suicune dipped her head, so low her muzzle nearly touched the water, and then raised it again. It will be repaid.

 

“I-I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.”

 

Suicune tossed her mane, and Chris thought he heard the echo of an echo of a laugh. We are all scrabbling at the shadow of understanding. I have lived long enough to watch forests die and rise again and for rivers to carve new paths, and still there is little I understand in this world. It matters not. You will believe what you will, and I will do as I will. One has no bearing on the other.

 

“But… why me?”

 

Because you are good. Many have tried to snare me and bend me to their will. All have failed. You have not even thought to try, and would not even if you had.

 

“No. I wouldn’t,” said Chris. The very idea was unfathomable. What could possibly hold her? And what would the world be without her running wild through it?

 

You are good, she said again. This I know to be true. Trust that, and trust yourself. And should you ever find yourself in dire need, call and I will come.

 

She swiveled to look down on Una. And you. It gains you nothing to kneel.

 

Chris watched the color drain from Una’s face.

 

Do whatever you like. There is nothing I can offer you. You are already ash on the wind.

 

With that, she darted away, spattering them with water. She didn’t look back.

 

Chris stared until long after her ribbon tails had faded from sight. Finally, he turned and helped Una to her feet. “What do you think that means?”

 

She shook her head. “Who was that?”

 

Chris’s mouth flew open, but he checked himself. “I guess that story isn’t as old as I thought. They perform a dance about it in Ecruteak every fall — Miki has been in it a few times.” While they fumbled to pull their boots onto wet feet and made their way back to their campsite, Chris explained the legend of the three unnamed pokémon who died as Brass Tower burned and what they became.

 

Una clutched her golden feather. “Not all the gods are dead after all,” she said.


	6. The Dead

**5: The Dead**

****

To his surprise, Chris woke alone in the tent. Una’s sleeping bag was neatly folded beside him—she must not have known to stuff it in its bag. He unzipped the door on his side of the tent and leaned out.

 

Una sat beside the campfire, stirring something in Chris’s little fold-up sauce pan.

 

“Oh. Hi,” he said.

 

“Good morning.”

 

Chris zippered himself back inside the tent to change into his hiking clothes.

 

He cursed.

 

“Are you unwell?” Una called.

 

“I just did something dumb.” He emerged from the tent, pulling taut the torn belt loop to show where it had come unattached. “Only two left.” There was a trainer joke that you could tell the number of badges someone had by the number of belt loops they’d ripped. Chris had known for some time that his backpack was chafing the ones along the back and there was wear from the wide and weighty belt itself, but he’d hoped to be able to hold out a little longer.

 

He couldn’t help being hard on his clothes. Across all the miles, carrying bulky cold weather layers and gear for six pokémon and a tent and cookware—he didn’t pack much extra. He’d been wearing the same pair of pants when he first left Olivine and had already had them repaired several times. One patch was from the time he scraped his knee running from a wild tauros. One was from the time he washed them in run-down hostel washing machine only to find them full of holes when the cycle finished. Repairs weren’t cheap. The material was tricky to work with, so said the tailor, but Chris suspected they upcharged trainers because they knew they could. A person who only owns one pair of pants is often in the position of making desperate decisions.

 

Una said, “If you have a needle and thread, I could easily repair it.”

 

He shook his head. “I don’t. But thanks.”

 

Una watched him zip the tent flap behind him. “Is it not possible to purchase another pair?”

 

If he had fifty extra dollars in his pocket from the battle yesterday, it would be easy.

 

“It’s okay. I’ll figure it out.” He joined Una by the fire, threading his belt through the remaining loops. “Looks like you got the hang of the matches.”

 

She smiled, blushing. “I expended several in the attempt. I apologize.”

 

“Haha, that’s okay. Hero usually lights the fires anyway.” He took in the sugary smell rising off the pot. “Did you make breakfast?”

 

The previous evening, Una had been flummoxed by the magic trick of turning a packet of RediMeal powder into curry by adding water. Apparently she adapted quickly.

 

“And tea.” She pointed out the cup at his feet.

 

“Wow,” he said, holding the cup close and inhaling the steam. “No one has made me breakfast since before I left home. Thanks.”

 

Una shrugged and served them each a portion of instant oatmeal from the pot. “I was awake.”

 

Chris stirred. “Are there… strawberries in here? Where did these come from?”

 

“Growing beside the path. You did not notice them yesterday?”

 

“No, I didn’t. I’m glad you did though.”

 

Birdsong and the smell of pine filled the air. The sky was clear. In the light of day, the lake looked flat as paper.

 

“Last night,” he said, “the lake… It feels like a dream.”

 

Una laughed sharply. “Everything I have seen in the last several days has been like a dream.”

 

Chris bit the inside of his cheek and said nothing. He wondered, yet again, what he was doing running in circles with a near stranger. But where else was he supposed to tell her to go?

 

“I do not know what to feel,” she said, as if reading his mind. Brow furrowed, she stared across the lake. “Never have I seen a god in the flesh before— and I did not ever dream that I might. It was not… what I imagined.”

 

“I didn’t even think they were real.”

 

Like all children of Olivine, Chris grew up in the shadow of the nameless, unimaginable Whirl Islands monster. If he dared swim out too far, his aunt told him one summer, he might encounter a terrible sea monster who would mistake him for its child and drag him into the depths. The version repeated on the playground was simpler and more brutal: it could swallow a grown man whole. Questions of whether the monster could travel the Olivine sewer system kept him up at night. When Chris repeated these stories to his parents, sobbing in terror of the family beach outing, his father smiled but corrected firmly: riptides. Hiro Nakano taught Chris and his sister how to spot rip currents, what to do if they were ever caught in a rip, and what types of weather bring tentacool to shore. Chris wasn’t afraid of sea monsters anymore after that.

 

He had never been taught to expect money under his pillow when he lost a tooth. Easter was something other families did, though he might convince his mom to add marshmallow pikas to their shopping cart. They celebrated Christmas, loosely, but they never left cookies for Santa or carrots for his stantler. The first time he’d heard about the ritual from a classmate, Chris had been baffled. He was good at keeping his skepticism to himself though, unlike his sister, who made herself the pariah of the first grade one week for arguing Santa logistics. _Stantler don’t fly, stupid._

 

If Una was offended by Chris’s faithless admission, she didn’t show it.

 

She fingered the feather she wore around her neck. “In Ecruteak — before, I should say — belief came easily, but faith was harder. How could I doubt in the existence of Ho-oh —” she dropped her voice to a reverent near-whisper when she spoke the name “—when I can hold one of its feathers? There are priests who spend the entirety of their vocation interpreting the remains of the burnt offerings atop Brass Tower. But to believe She cares for our petty concerns… That is harder to prove.

 

“And yet…” Una flashed a wry smile. “Now, when I am the furthest I have ever been from the gods who for centuries have guarded my home, when they have vanished— now is when the gods choose to speak directly. And to you they have even given a personal blessing.” There was a bitter edge to her voice. She wanted it to have been her.

 

Chris fidgeted. “Some blessing… Kinda scary. Like that ashes on the wind stuff. And it—she—knew my name.”

 

“Sometimes the gifts of the gods are fearsome.”

 

 _Burnt offering_ she’d said. Chris’s skin prickled.

 

After a moment Una spoke again. “I have been considering what you said yesterday, how this is where you feel right, out here in the wild. I think I feel that way as well. All my life, Ecruteak and her two towers was the center of meaning, but the gods reside there no longer. They are here.” She made a sweeping arm gesture, then shrugged and tucked her hands in her lap.

 

Chris spoke slowly. “So you don’t want to stay in Mahogany.”

 

“No.” She laughed humorlessly. “There remains no city for which I feel well-suited. This is not my world anymore. But the trees are yet unchanged. The mountains are unchanged. I understand those things.”

 

Chris carefully set down his bowl and leaned forward, elbows on knees. “You know, the battle yesterday — that’s not a one-time thing.”

 

 _And that wasn’t even a bad one,_ he added silently.

 

She looked at her feet but nodded.

 

“I can’t throw another battle because it upsets you. For one thing, I need to pay for supplies.” He toyed with a loose-hanging belt loop. “And even if I didn’t.. This is what I’m out here for.”

 

“I understand. Or, rather,… I do not and cannot understand, but…” Una met his gaze. “I know what we witnessed here last night. If you have the blessing of the gods…there must be something I am not seeing. Perhaps there is something I am meant to learn from you.”

 

He looked away. Her gaze was a weight.

 

At the same time, his heart twisted remembering how at the ruins of the burnt tower she’d hugged that carved pillar like a dying loved one. He tried to imagine waking up one morning to learn that everyone he knew — his mother, his siblings, his high school friends, the grocery store clerk — was gone. That every pokécenter computer and his Bitflex and pokéballs were all defunct relics. He couldn’t.

 

_What would Dad do?_

 

Una was looking at him, waiting.

 

Chris managed half a smile. “I guess you could teach me how to find wild strawberries.”

 

She laughed, a real laugh this time. “Verily, I can.”

 

His smile brightened seeing her grin. “No one else would believe me if I told them what we saw.”

 

“And I would be called a heretic.” Una became wistful, but only for the briefest moment before dissolving into the desperate giggling of the overwhelmed. It caught hold of Chris too.

 

Finally Chris steadied himself with a deep breath and said, “We should get going. I’ll show you how to pack up the tent.”

 

Maybe, Chris hoped, they would run into another trainer on the path and he could try again.

 

They didn’t.

 

However, they did see lots of plants. Chris hadn’t paid them much notice before, thinking of them only as part of the backdrop or something to push through, but Una knew a use for nearly every specimen they saw. She showed him plantago (good for bug bites and scrapes,) yarrow (wound care and indigestion), and jewel weed (an antidote for poison ivy.)

 

After she pointed out the first strawberry plant, Chris easily spotted another. And another. They ate the wild berries almost hand-over-hand as they walked. Tikal didn’t need them to point out berry plants to her, but all the same the sandslash happily accepted strawberries from their hands, sweeping her long tongue over their red-stained palms.

 

Though Chris had walked Johto Route 42 three times now, he felt as if he were truly seeing it for the first time.

 

When they crested the hill and saw Mahogany Town laid out below them in the mossy shadows between Mt. Mortar and the Dragon’s Spine, close enough to pick out individual buildings, Chris let out a sigh of relief. They were making good time.

 

They walked without speaking until they had nearly come to the first buildings. “Last chance,” he said with a nervous smile, knowing what her answer would be.

 

She shook her head but smiled. “I am content to continue.”

 

“Just making sure.”

 

How different she seemed already from who she’d been when they’d set out together from Mahogany Town. She left as a blank slate, a girl without a name. Now she had an air of resolve. Her gaze was sharper, her head higher.

 

Chris and Una walked side by side down the wide main road, soon passing the gym and The Indigo Chatteau. The streets were quiet. They saw a few children playing kick the can, a pair of women carrying baskets of freshly washed clothes back from the lake shore, and an old man smoking a pipe on his front steps. Chris slowed as they passed the repair shop.

 

“Will you seek a seamstress?”

 

He chewed his cheek and imagined sitting around the repair shop in his sleeping clothes and waiting to get his pants back. Reading his book, he supposed, or writing a letter home, while outside the daylight slowly waned. Directly ahead, the mountains loomed green and sharp. They were so close now.

 

“I’ll do it in Blackthorn,” he said.

 

“Then what comes next?”

 

Chris took a deep breath. He pushed down thoughts of money and lost time and all the miles left to go, touching Hero’s pokéball for luck. “We’re gonna climb the Ice Pass. And then I’m going to meet Clair and show her what I can do.”

 

She tied back her long curls and wiped the sweat from the back of her neck. “Lead the way.”

Una noticed the delibirds first. Leaning together against a boulder, she and Chris each ate an apple and passed back and forth a bag of trail mix. She grabbed Chris’s arm and pointed, smiling mischievously.

 

Chris counted three, four of them in the tree across the way. He made a noise of exasperation. “Yeah, the pokémon up here aren’t afraid of people at all. Persistent too.” He reached for Sonic’s pokéball.

 

“Oh please—” said Una, but she was too slow.

 

Shooting out sparks with each joyful bark, the jolteon chased the delibirds out of the tree and into the sky.

 

“Don’t worry,” Chris said, brushing a fallen feather off his sleeve. “They won’t go far.”

 

Sure enough, the sound of delibird hoots and trills remained constant as they packed up their lunch and continued up the canyon. Alone, Chris would’ve been annoyed by them. But it was hard to begrudge Una her wide-eyed delight. “I guess you haven’t seen a delibird before, huh?”

 

“Never.”

 

Chris felt a pang thinking of how much of the world, or even the Johto region, she’d never had a chance to learn anything about. He had grown up watching sailors on the docks— the Unovans with their gurdurrs and simipour, the floatzel and gastrodon from Sinnoh— and all manner of trainers and pokémon came through the gym. What he couldn’t see in Olivine he could easily search for in the pokedex, or there might be a Discovery Channel special after school. He got the impression that Una’s Ecruteak must have been very isolated.

 

Then again, if she was able to find joy in a delibird when he couldn’t, maybe she was one who should feel sorry for him.

 

“They give humans little presents sometimes,” he told her. “You know, berries, rocks… trash.”

 

“They’re messengers,” she said. “We should leave them something too.”

 

Chris didn’t reply, glad she was walking behind him and couldn’t see his face. The last thing he wanted was to encourage them.

 

They steadily climbed, single-file. Sonic zipped from the head of the line and back, chasing any delibird that came too close, even darting between Chris’s feet once or twice. They hadn’t reached the snow line yet — probably wouldn’t until tomorrow at their current rate — but they hiked past hummocks hanging with muddy icicles, and the leafy trees were phasing out in favor of bristly pines and woody bushes dotted with red berries. After a while Chris piped up, “What are you humming?”

 

“Oh!” He heard her stumble in surprise. “I apologize. I had not realized that I was.”

 

“It’s okay. I thought it was nice.” He glanced over his shoulder and they exchanged shy smiles.

 

“Only a silly little song,” she said.

 

“You can keep going, I mean if you want to.”

 

For a few moments there was only the sound of their footsteps and the rustling of branches. Then Una began to sing in a thin but pretty voice:

 

Little bird, little bird

Fly for me high above

And carry, oh carry

This letter to my love

 

Little bird, little bird

O’er the many miles you sing

Do not tarry, oh tarry

You fly on borrowed wings

 

Little bird, little bird

Oh how far you have flown

Do not worry, oh worry

The gods will take you home

 

When she finished she added, “I believe there is more, but I do not recall the words. Suki, my sister, had a much better memory for songs and suchlike.”

 

“I like that. It’s sweet,” said Chris. “There’s something almost sad about it too.”

 

“It comes from an old story,” she said. They were each getting better at masking their shock at what the other didn’t know. “A young girl wins the friendship of a pidgey and the promise of a favor. Out of love for her, it agrees to carry a message to her lover on the opposite side of a treacherous mountain. The little bird delivers the letter, only to die of exhaustion shortly after. But in honor of its loyalty and fortitude it is guided home to live among the gods.”

 

“Oof.” Unbidden, the image of the prescription pill jar brought to him by a delibird came to his mind again. “That’s a lot for a little bird to carry.”

 

“So it goes.” He could hear the sad smile in her voice.

 

Nearby a delibird honked in protest as Sonic rushed at it. Scree and sticks clattered down the hill as they walked.

 

Chris said, “I like the song though.”

 

Una hesitated for only a moment. “I know a few others. If you like.”

 

“Yeah, sure. I’d like to hear them.”

 

They hiked more slowly than Chris would’ve alone, but the time seemed to pass more quickly all the same.

Two days later, another of Chris’s belt loops tore free as they walked. He felt it go and managed to catch the sagging end of it before his pokéballs went tumbling. There wasn’t enough support left for the belt to hold up.

 

Una looked back to see him frozen in the middle of the path. “What happened?”

 

“It broke,” he said, unbuckling his belt.

 

After taking a moment to stare down at his belt in his hands and feel sorry for himself, Chris slid out of his backpack. He clipped Sonic’s pokéball to the carabiner on his shoulder strap and the rest he zipped in an outside pocket. He hated tying his team down to his backpack. He felt naked without his belt. The only positive, he supposed, was that in the mountains there were few if any other trainers who might try to get into his backpack to steal… everything.

 

He took a breath, shouldered his pack, and lifted his head up. “Let’s keep going.”

 

The only way out is through.

 

Chris made a point to turn his Bitflex to the underside of his wrist so he couldn’t see the date and time so easily. He pushed past a branch that snagged on his hood.

 

There was a smack and a cry of surprise as it struck Una behind him.

 

He turned to see her holding a gloved hand to her cheek. “I’m sorry! Are you okay? I’m not used to having to watch out for someone behind me. Sorry.”

 

“I am not harmed. All is forgiven.”

 

They spent the morning hiking in the shadow of the canyon with a brief interlude in the sunlight around lunchtime before the sun dropped behind the high limestone walls again. It began to snow.

 

“So this is where you found me?” Una asked, a mix of awe and horror in her voice.

 

“Yeah, more or less. I don’t know if it was here exactly.”

 

He snuck a glance back in time to see her shiver. “I wonder if I will ever know how I came to be here.”

 

A massive fallen log cut across the path. Chris found a foothold and hoisted himself over, perversely delighted to look back at his own hand prints in the fresh snow. He leaned one arm against the stump where a branch had broken off long ago and he watched Una approach the log and falter. She was out of breath. Chris didn’t want to, but they would have to stop and rest soon.

 

“Who would have thought,” Una said, panting, “that I would return here so soon.”

 

Chris dusted the snow from his gloves and reached down to offer her a hand up.

 

She flashed a smile, straining with forced cheer, and fumbled for a handhold on the log. But she accepted his hand and let him pull her up and over, her boots slipping. She leaned against the log next to him and sighed.

 

He felt a surge of pride looking at her, face red with cold, a few stray curls poking out from under the hood of her coat and the knit cap. This wasn’t easy for her. But she was stubborn, and he had to admire that. He had still never heard her complain once.

 

“A couple of days ago, I wouldn’t have been able to believe you’d do so well out here. Most people…wouldn’t. You must really want to be here.”

 

Una answered in a breathless laugh, “This is the first thing in my life I have chosen freely and fully.”

 

Chris didn’t know what else to say so he smiled. “Let’s take a break at the top of this hill. I’m feeling kinda tired.” He slowed to Una’s pace and they wound their way up the hill side by side.

 

They were nearly at the top of the hill when they heard a shrill bark, a different sound than the one Sonic made when he was chasing a delibird. “Sonic, come here!” There was a resounding stillness. He hadn’t noticed until now how even the delbirds had quited. “Sonic?”

 

At the top of the hill, the path leveled out for a stretch. Sonic’s pawprints were easy to pick out in the snow, the shape warped by his SmartPlastic paw protectors. The tracks meandered to the right, and then vanished under a long, muddy skid mark— Chris’s blood froze. In the same instant he spotted both the little yellow and white lump of fur laying among the trees and also, hunched above it, all shoulder and chest and rippling fur was the ursaring. He heard a small guttural sound and tracked it further into the thicket. Two gold-faced tediursa cubs peered down from a tree.

 

Chris tried to motion for Una to stay back, but she was already right behind him. He heard her breath catch.

 

The ursaring sniffed the air and spun around, locking her beady eyes on Chris. She snorted a puff of steam and then bellowed.

 

Pokémon bolted from the nearby bushes in a crunching of leaves.

 

Chris slowly took a step back. In a low, gentle tone he said, “Hey, easy. We’re not gonna hurt your cubs.” He slid his backpack off one shoulder.

 

That was a mistake.

 

Faster than he would’ve believed, the ursaring dropped to all fours and rushed towards them. She stirred up snow in her wake and shouldered through the bushes.

 

If he was fast —

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Una lace her hands behind her head and drop to her knees.

 

“What are —?”

 

“Chris, get down.”

 

He hesitated for a fraction of a second, and that was all it took. Suddenly the ursaring was only a yard away.

 

His mind went utterly blank, like the blowing out of a candle. He surrendered and put his hands behind his head. Beside him Una lay face down in the snow, and he followed suit, closing his eyes.

 

Overhead, the ursaring slewed into a stop less than a foot from Chris’s head and roared, spraying him with snow and spittle. For a moment she only swayed over him, but he could feel the weight and power of her even with his eyes closed. She roared again.

 

Chris’s ears rang. He held as still as he could, but his trembling was beyond his control.

 

The ursaring swiped at him once, twice, knocking his pack aside with a thud. He heard fabric rip and flinched. But no more blows came. Her breath was hot on the back of his neck. And then he heard heavy footfalls in the snow, and the towering shadow receded.

 

He waited as long as he could stand it before slowly lifting his head.

 

Several yards away, the ursaring stopped and huffed at them, breath steaming. She growled again, softer this time. At last she turned away.

 

Slowly, she shambled to the tree where her cubs perched, her eyes never leaving Chris and Una. She coughed, growled, and the cubs began to clamber down one at a time. They fell over themselves cartoonishly as they hit the bottom and then gamboled in a circle around her, all under her watchful glare. With a growl she herded them across the path towards the opposite slope. She paused one last time in the middle of the path to glower at them, and then the three bear pokémon lumbered into the trees.

 

Chris and Una lay there for a long time, listening to the wind in the branches and distant pokémon calls, before they dared rise to kneel on the cold, wet ground. Chris’s heart was still pounding. He turned to look at Una. Pine needles and snow clung to her hair. “How did you know that would work?”

 

“There are many things I do not know or understand.” She smiled. “Fortunately, I do know some things about making peace with wild creatures.” She stood and offered a hand to Chris.

 

By the time Chris was approaching the place where Sonic lay among the fallen branches, the jolteon was already beginning to stir again — stunned, but not gravely wounded. Chris let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

That night by the fire, after they’d cleared away their dishes, Chris rubbed an aspear and yache berry salve into the pads of Sonic’s feet. He’d patched over the claw marks on his backpack and the back of his coat with duct tape, a holdover until they reached Blackthorn: the latest in the seemingly endless line of repairs. Hero, his coat freshly brushed, rested his chin on the fire ring and watched with half-lidded eyes. The sky was pearlescent with clouds, though every so often a snatch of starry oblivion peeked through.

 

Previous nights, Chris had fulfilled his half of the unofficial song exchange by showing her the few tracks stored on his Bitflex while they sat around the campfire. Mostly 80s rock ballads. Normally he would’ve been too embarrassed to share that he liked that campy stuff— he only kept them because they reminded him of Lee, one of the gym trainers, teaching him drills to run with his then-cyndaquil, even though Chris had been a kid and technically wasn’t supposed to. But in the middle of a dark forest with a girl who’d never even heard of an mp3…why not?

 

Tonight, though, he was quiet.

 

“What thoughts are on your mind, Chris?”

 

He leaned back and let Sonic nestle into his half-unzipped coat. “For a while now, for most of my journey really, I’ve only had myself to rely on. I’m proud of that. But…if it had only been me and my pokémon today, I would’ve been in trouble.

 

“It’s funny. People think training is about giving commands and planning out strategies, but I think it’s more about paying attention. I was thinking today about the Ecruteak Gym—you know, with the trap doors.” He had done his best to explain the Indigo League and the eight gym system while they walked, but it wasn’t easy when she was missing so much context and he realized he didn’t actually know some of the history either. “Hero was trying to let me know to stop, but I second-guessed him and I fell through. If I would’ve listened, that wouldn’t have happened.

 

“I almost had another one of those moments back there with the ursaring.” Even with the heat of the fire on his face, he could feel his face grow hotter still. “I’m glad I listened to you…I’m glad you’re here.”

 

Una tipped her head to one side. “You have chosen such a dangerous journey. Why have you chosen this path, even knowing its risks?”

 

He let out a long sigh. “That’s a big question. I mean, it’s a lot of things, right?” He watched the flames, rubbing Sonic’s ear, but he could still feel Una watching him. “I probably haven’t been doing a good job lately of showing it, but it’s fun too. I get to hang out with pokémon and hike all day and win battles. And… and I guess, probably it’s because of my dad.”

 

She waited.

 

“He used to be the Olivine gym leader — I don’t know if I already told you that. So I’ve been around pokémon all my life. Hero was bred from one of his pokémon, actually.”

 

In a flash, he remembered his father scolding him for feeding his cyndaquil scraps under the table, as he was in the habit of doing with his friends’ pets. At the time Chris hadn’t realized yet that Hero had been given as a pet in name only, for legal reasons — he was always intended to be a fighter. His starter.

 

“I guess,” said Chris, “I want to do things that would’ve made him proud. I want everyone to be able to see...that I’m his kid.”

 

“Oh. I see,” said Una. “Did he...?”

 

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “But it was seven years ago.” He shifted in his seat, and Sonic made a sudden leap off his lap, shaking himself off and then tucking himself against Hero’s side instead. Chris craned his head back to gaze up at the clouds and continued, “You learn to get used to it. I think it was harder for my mom and my brother. He was pretty little.”

 

“I understand. I felt much the same after Suki passed. Many in Ecruteak fell ill that season, and there was too much work to be done to spend much time in mourning.”

 

Chris stole a glance at her. She sat with her arms wrapped around her knees, her hair partly obscuring her face. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

 

“As you said, one adjusts.” She cracked a crooked smile. “Besides, it happened over five hundred years ago.”

 

“Still. That’s hard. You’re allowed to be upset about things like that. I mean, I almost didn't become a trainer because of what happened.”

 

She tucked her hair behind her ears. “What do you mean?”

 

“Well, he was killed by a pokémon.”

 

Una reached up reflexively to touch her feather necklace with one hand and the other flew to her lips. “Not one of his own?”

 

“No,” he said, more defensively than he’d meant, “definitely not. It was a challenger, at the gym. An accident.”

 

“An accident?”

 

“It was this young guy who didn’t really know what he was doing.” He must have been the same age that Chris was now, someone trying to make a name for himself the only way he knew. Chris swallowed.

 

“We could discuss something else. I do not wish to upset you.”

 

“It’s fine. I don’t mind it.”

 

She wrapped her arms around herself again, leaning her chin on her knees, and waited.

 

Chris stared into the sky and spoke with a matter-of-fact tone. “The other trainer brought out a rhydon — fresh caught, and he wasn’t ready to handle it.” When he made the decision to take on the Indigo League, Chris looked up the footage. He should watch it, he thought, because he wanted to be sure that would never be him. The rhydon had been monstrous, its back crusted with lichen and moss, a creature no one should have ever tried to remove from the wild. At first it wouldn’t fight, hunkered down taking and taking hits. Then, suddenly, it started attacking everything—pokémon, onlookers, even smashing its head against the walls. “It freaked out. pokémon do that sometimes their first time in a gym — it’s the confined space. The lights. The crowd. The guy had no control over it, but he let it rampage anyway because he thought he was going to win. The rhydon finally burst through the wall to escape, and half the ceiling collapsed.”

 

Three other trainers and an off-duty cop finally felled the rhydon, but it had done its damage. Although most people had been evacuated from the gym, many were wounded and four were killed. When paramedics eventually found Hiro in the rubble, there were signs his pokémon had tried to protect him… but had failed.

 

“We like to think that just because you have a pokémon, nothing can touch you, but…” Chris wished he didn’t know that his father’s typhlosion and houndoom had been crushed beside him beneath the falling travertine, but he did. Several of his pokéballs also broke apart in the collapse, and it took the local sheriff’s office two days to recapture his loose pokémon. His charizard was never found.

 

Eventually the city rebuilt the gym and found a new gym leader. She’d liked the exposed steel beams when she visited during the construction, and so it stayed that way. They added black tile flooring that reflected your own face back at you and, most importantly, a heavily reinforced steel ceiling dome.

 

“And yet,” said Una, “here you are.”

 

“I know.” Chris snorted. “Mom was angry at first when I told her I’d decided to train, but she wouldn’t say so. I mean, she’s supportive, but she doesn’t really understand it. Sometimes I don’t either, honestly. It’s just something I have to do.”

 

The fire had gone to coals. Chris prodded them with a stick and said, “Anyway. Thanks for listening.”

 

Her gaze was difficult to read. “It is good to remember the departed.”

 

Later, curled towards the tent wall, Chris asked, “Do you really think that’s true, what you said the other day about people who’ve passed coming back as pokémon?”

 

Una was quiet for so long he thought maybe she had fallen asleep. “It is what I choose to believe.”

 

-

 

The next morning, Una began breaking down the tent while he warmed up with a cup of tea. Already, this had become their routine. Chris hadn’t asked her to do it, but if he told her she didn’t have to knew she would anyway.

 

He walked while he sipped, stretching his legs and checking for any equipment or trash they might have overlooked. A dot of red among yesterday’s gray snow caught his eye. Tucked under an overhang, someone had arranged ten or so flat rocks into a tower, and on top was an apple cut into beak-sized chunks.

 

Chris shook his head, smiling, and started to turn back to their camp, but something made him pause.

 

Kneeling beside the stone pile, he dug into his pocket for a granola bar. He unwrapped it and broke it into small pieces. Not until he was walking away did he notice himself humming _little bird, little bird…_


End file.
